Cold and I'm nothing
while the dragon lady rips
my flesh with her kerosene touch,
which forms the fire right next to me
and ignites my molotov sacred heart.
Lobbed like a grenade, war's hot
potato. Cold burns stronger than flames.
Cold as the vacant part of our bed,
emptiness is evanescence, disappearance,
and disintegration. Cold when I can't see
outside my head. Cold and the violence
cannot set me free. Cold and coming home
with marshmallow smiles, saccharine tar
affixes my facial expression
while I can't seem to hide
from what makes the most sense.