Burn

Shadows inhale and fill their lungs with sticks and mud,

Exhaling whispers of my illogical venom,

Keep on keeping on,

Sleeping it away from me,

Waking in a cold sweat to what’s contained in my past,

Animalistic screams perforate my head as I’m left rendered with alert ears,

Trembling with my adorn for them,

To live without them is to live without fire,

Scorched at the touch but warmed up from farther out,

Still… everyone likes the touch of a hand sometimes.