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Burnt By Cold Fire

Burnt by cold fire

from a witch who steals hearts


She sinks her nails in

and claws out the beating love


Her fangs reflect the pale moon,

as she devours another soul


Blood drips down her chin,

and onto mother nature's face


A pool of blood,

like the pupil of the all seeing eye


She steps on it with her black boots

and howls at the moon


Burnt

to a crisp

by her cold fire

Alive no longer,

but something stirring,

something stronger…


I have fangs too,

you damn witch,

and I am a man

with a black hole for a soul–

thanks to you


I’m a dangerous beast

A coward ready to be unleashed

A hyena backed into a corner

A scorpion behind bedroom eyes

A weaver of stories and lies

and I hardly try.



There’s no end to the pettiness of a soulless,

hopeless,

malicious

man


The Scorpion vs The Witch,


what a fight we could have.


We could sell tickets

and give the masses

another distraction

to distract them

from their distractions


They love a good fight,

especially

one with love,

blood,

and a cold fire.


They’ll scream and cheer,

as we rip each other apart.





Then,

after we’ve gotten in our licks,

and let the madness of the crowd rage,


we’ll piece each other


together.


-C.H.

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