/My Fire/
I can't tell the difference, reality and dream
I can't feel the fire, burried and dead
I can't see or hear it, blind and deaf
My heart sits between us, like a blood covered bug
It's slow like a slug, weak and beating
It has holes punched in it, worm-filled and bleeding
My wounds are still visible, festering and slowly scaring
The outside hardly matches the in, whole and mostly untouched
While everyone else sleeps, I toss and turn, simply too much
But you can see, the worth of the soul beyond the pattern of its scares
The light, low and dim
The pain, old and new
My fire, somehow still burning within