Scorching, crackling, and deep skin smoldering,
Burning the weak, charging up resilience and
pain,
Creating apathy from awe, pathetic
sentimentality,
And leaving a mark on the brain,
Festering, threatening, and dark damnation
fueling,
Bridging the gap between raw and dry,
Creating ashes from undamaged roses to the damn
untouchable thorn bushes,
Leaving nothing but a tragic end for the
celebrity and outcast,
And never quitting the job,
Warming, dreamy much, and God-blessed charming,
Bringing joy, and comfort at last,
Driving out the cold, fulfilling desires,
By blessed death, a third degree, or a blast of
heat,
Leaving nothing to chance,
I think I see the picture now,
It’s the fire.
@Job Kerry
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