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Thursday, March 8, 2012


Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself.
Mark Twain

I Am the Flame

I am the flame
no one wants to touch.
Am I the fire, or the moth?
I am the flame that might burn you
if you come too close.
Am I the flame, or the fire?
I will set fire to the pain in you,
your dancing blaze,
forcing you to
let out the truth and sear
into you the reasons
why people are devoted to you.
And if you won’t come close,
I know you know fear, and if
you do come close,
and if you can smell the smolder,
and you are willing
to come into the
the orange and red
wild licking flames,
I will taste you
and consume you, and mark you,
and leave you
as a living burning inferno of truth.
I am the ember which ignites
the fire within you,
a flare-up from risk,
a comfort from warmth.
I am the glow you feel long
after cool night has come, a silent sun
overturned, an order demanding
yourself to breathe;
the rebirth of a phoenix
embedded with scars,
a cremation of hate, and the gray ash of love.

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