Once a glowing porcelain,
your skin has long shed its warmth.
Manifested through raging fire,
what's left sits atop branches hastily gathered.

So make use of the foreign breath
you've deviously collected
and try to keep the blaze at bay.
Exhaling their toxic fumes,
you'll only feed the flames.

Immolated, you concede to the heat
and I still extend a hand,
only to be pulled to my death
as dedication burns me alive.