I’m breathing fire again

I can’t help the fever that runs through me when I begin to feel this way. I burn the whole thing down. Make it look like an accident. Cough up kerosine in my sleep. Flick a match for the thrill of it. See what burns first. What burns loudly. What burns the most.

And everyone says I rise like a Phoenix, but they don’t understand that I’m the fucking spark. I disappear before the smoke- before they helplessly chase the flames with water. I’m not thirsty. I’m not part of the aftermath. I’m nothing at all. I once heard that burn scars are the worst- the tissue begs to mold itself back together like lava oozing along ridged edges. Stretches across the damage and begs the cells to form something familiar. It never really does.

Better warn them all. It’s quite again and my rage lights up with fury. Im breathing fire again. AMT