Burning House poem

...Burning...
My house melts into flames.
The fire creeps toward me,
This is distress, and I am the dame.

Ash and smoke cloud my vision,
Not that it really matters.
I'd rather die
Than hear the clatters.

The children are in the kitchen,
Throwing pots and pans all around.
"Surely this will put it out,"
They must think as they make messy sound.

I can feel the flames,
They're trying to take my body.
My skin is peeling under the heat,
My bones, cracking out of me.

The last of my senses are starting to go.

The house is crumbling,
Burnt woods fills my nose.
As I lick my tortured, dry lips,
I think of the rose.

It started this all.

As my body gives in,
I'm working up the courage to give a final shout.
I hear the children's shrieks
as the pans run out.

"Help! Someone! Anybody! Please!" I cry.
Tears evaporate the second they release.
Snap, go twigs outside the door
"I'm sorry, okay?! Help! Please?"