Cold

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

forever Joker-esque

while I can't seem to hide

from what makes the most sense.