Made of fire

I am made of fire.

The words that slip off my tongue

are scalding lava.

My actions are small, sharp

knives quick to slice.

The buildings around me are made

of hatred and charred bricks.

Graves of vengeance pile

in the corners.

What is the water to moisten

our parched lips? The soft

gauze to stifle our wounds?

It is what we make it to be.

And what have we made it to be?

Nothing. We are too preoccupied

waging petty wars and spouting lies.

Our wailing ghosts and cackling

demons have led us into the wrong.

 We are volcanos, and our

world is being burnt to

the crisp.

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