Some call it weakness.

But to me, it is all strength,
The rush motivates in me
A threatening power engulfing
Every ounce of fragility.

Like dancing on shards of broken glass,
Like prancing across hot coals and flames,
A simple game of who can outlast,
Yet dangerous, this playing with fire and pain.

The poison stings
As it hurls and flings
Its sharp jagged wings
Against my throat.

Some call it weakness.

But to me, it is pure energy,
Pouring into every pore on my body,
Filling my orifices, filling my cavities,
Exciting every nerve ending.

Lightening shoots from my eyes
As I glance indifferently at the world around,
It's always like this at first, everything disappears
I'm just waiting to be filled with the thunder and storm clouds.

The liquid burns
As it froths and churns
And settles into the cistern
That is my chest.

Some call it weakness.

But to me, it's a release,
With my judgment altered I forget not to care,
Suddenly I possess all these liberated emotions
That nobody knew were there.

Maniacal laughter as I'm screaming inside,
Filled to the brim with this fluid fervor,
Everything is honey, finally feeling something,
Participating in living life, not just an observer.

The spirit flows
And the feeling grows
And it only goes to show
That sometimes those
Who seem predisposed
To glow...
Are froze.