I knew it wouldn't end in fire; We burned Too fast, too enjoyably, to suffocate In flames.
I found the scab, the source, Small and round and secret. Incapable of leaving it to heal, I finger the edges Nervously until the blood flows Cold and jealous and foreign and unforgiving and slow.
A tipping point we can't reverse out of, We're frozen on the event horizon, Empty like the air in February, The oxygen burned out from our explosion.
I am only left with regret and this Sense, clear and dry and freezing, that I've walked Too far north and lost the sun, Though clouds still part in the distance and wave Toward the open spaces With fingers unfurling in unnatural curls.
I claw back to calm from Calamity and speak, knowing I have listened Too deeply to words meant for other ears - words that do not tell Me what to say in return - I am raw.
I stand at the edge of mercy, Abrupt in my humanity, Suddenly losing feeling in my toes.