I'm standing on top of a fire.
I can't feel the blisters form on my feet.
Am I still alive? I wonder.
I look to my left,
A woman covered in mud and dressed in rags.
To my right,
A man with slashes on his face and sweat forming a puddle beneath him.
I look down at my own bleeding hands.
Is this suffering? I laughed.
I hear the whip crack.
Time to move my life forward,
Slowly working to wards the end.
