It always amazed me how
when a forest fire sparks
even the rain cannot
cease the rage.
In a way I
guess I'm the same.
You see, a flame
grows in me.
I always used to tell my mother
she was a volcano and
I, a tornado.
When we clashed
even the Titans would run in fear.
Anger is a tiresome thing.
I used to imagine myself
with a glowing white light
that protected my body,
a force field or an aurora
of sorts.
Yet now the reflection
that stares back at me
is black and cold.
All I see is
a corpse.
If I covered my body in
gasoline and lit a match
I wouldn't feel anything
but the sunlight on my cheeks
and the ground beneath my feet.