angry hot fire

Fire. Angry hot fire. It burns inside me so brightly it would impress every arsonist and then some. Fire so hot it melts the very skin on my bones. I feel it in my chest, in my veins, in my skull. It’s craving. It’s longing. It’s rage. I can’t switch off. It makes me restless. My thoughts run faster than I can keep up. I want to touch. I want to be close. I want to feel and hold and memorize every inch. And I know it’s reckless, I know it’s dangerous, I know it scorches everything around it. But I can’t stop. I let it run. I let it consume me. I live inside it, inhale it, exhale it, carry it everywhere. It drives me to want people I shouldn’t, to fixate on things I can’t have, to burn through calm like it’s paper. It’s me. It’s fire. And there’s no extinguisher that will ever reach it. I still wonder why I cling to people. Why I still think of people, people that can't and won't do anything to fix whatever it is that is wrong with who I am.