That Burning Feeling

Within desolate winter

and the twisted terrain

of intestines,

lay your frigid, lonely soul,

hopelessly hibernating, waiting

for the breath of spring

to stir your

subdued spirit.

You were saved

by scalding water, melting

a hole in the whole

of darkness.

The flames licked the internal passage

of your body,

into a canal of feeling,

and you were wading within

its warmth.

The burning was intoxicating,

so copious, it came close

to blistering your heart.

It was severe and searing

almost like being

dead.

The fiery facade dwindled

again into tangled wilds

and starless nights,

leaving the chill to burn

your soul, forever

boiling.

Anna Snader

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