The fire in my mind,
blooms and comes forth,
in great spouts of inferno,
and red seems tinged,
in all the shades around,
of joy and anger mingled,
in creatures born of instinct,
and reason flees,
in those brief moments,
what remains, is not perceived,
except a dull flame,
that leaps into fire,
within the confines, of my mind,
and I remain alone,
in this world of flame,
born of my mind,
wherein I exist.