It isn't really fire
But it burns just the same.
It's not really a wound
But I still feel the pain.
I watch them dance around me
I'm an island, they the river
flowing from a melting glacier
Icy cold that makes me shiver
Encaged, enraged, ensorceled
they become my scrying stone
I stare and search for meaning
as my flesh turns into bone
I become a raging Monster
Screaching Pulling out my hair
finally I lunge for one
and fine only empty air.
Benjamin Cline
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