Inside out

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Between the wind and the midnight fireworks
I fell
Inside my breath
Watching it unfurl
Dance like the flame in the night
Ring loud like bells colliding
In this one moment
I watch it burn
The leftover parts
The shedding of skin
My midnight oil
Dividing days and years
I saw words scribbled without thought
Shriveling
Dispersing
Leaving trails of thin smoke
Of dragon’s breath
Of lungs of fire and throat of coals
A tongue of ash
Teeth of ember
Spitting out these last words
These last vows
Of tethered memories
Into the flame
Into the last minutes
With the cold air batting my face
My bare feet resting in soft snow
This is ritual
This is clean
This is the frozen time
Where intentions and lessons learned
Walk hand in hand
A destructive resurrection
My phoenix
My wildfire
I welcome you
I leave you and meet you again
In the orange glow
In the fragments of spark
I find that moment
Closed eyes
Words whispered
Extinguished
The wild winds come in like harbingers
A cathartic release
The last minute
The last hour
The last day
Come and gather the unconscious
The subconscious
The divine layers that divide and bind
The melting, binding fragments
Stirred once over
Paper fragments escape
Carried away
I open
I fall inside
The flame fades out

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Heat Rests Here

I feel the heat of my pulse like syllables, traveling down my arms. Sometimes singular syllables, sometimes strings of them forming words my lips don’t dare speak. They leave my hot empty breath and force themselves to the carved space of my collarbone. From there they warm my shoulder sockets, rotating. Crawling like an army of ants inside my flesh, making their way to my wrists entangling themselves with nerve clusters.

It is a flowing heat, never burning, but reminding. Pouring out of my hands like open floodgates, traveling through tributaries in the lines of my palms. Stretching to my fingers, to the delta of heat.

Pulsing, putting those syllables together, forming silent sentences from the hollow within. My fingers do the talking for my weary voice. They carry the responsibility of holding pen to paper, pushing electronic buttons. My words are incubated here, fed and manipulated. The heat rests here. It settles like the sunset. Like each finger holds a single eternal flame.