Fear
There is one last
Ember in the fire.
It smolders and glows,
Fierce, fiery flecks
Float in the air.
They reflect
A mocking, orange light.
His words leap like flames,
Hover over my silent lips,
Dance around
My dulled senses.
They find my cold hands
And offer to help me
With their burning warmth.
I look at him
With empty eyes
And hold his words
Gingerly
As though they are
Holy water
Instead of wild flames.
The fire is slowly dying
As I tell him
There is nothing
To help with
Here.
And I watch the last ember
So I don’t have to
See his eyes,
Because
I’m afraid of what is in them.
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