It doesn't start with fire.
It starts with those fingers
the icy skeleton's fingers exing over my heart
pulling back to steal what can be stolen
in the palm of it's skeletal hand.
whatever spills I can sweep off the floor
maybe save for later,
or maybe just stomp into the ground.
who knows, really.
and then the itching
dripping from my eyes right down
to that gaping wound
i have to practically rip my hair out
just to keep from scratching myself to scars
There's this heat
this slow creeping heat
not so subtle as ice
not close.
it pulls it's noose around my neck
and pulls so fast I barely feel a thing
before the fire
the quick flash of flame that stabs my chest
like a professional
hits a chord to paralyze me
it didn't start with fire and flames,
but that is how it ends.
