My bones are burning like hell fire… My heart is calling and crying that you throw out some bucket of sympathy water… Ooh, so sweet…. No… So hot… I can’t resist but submit the feelings of crushing fingers, pinned against the wall while hot sweat drop to my toes….
Today I am finished, getting weak… May be weaker by this burning steam of sympathy water, draining all my strength through my nerves, peeling off the healing scars and warbling down the ripen boils. It would be better to remain in the burning fire, than weaken with the steam.
And when is today? It’s not a Friday, it’s not a Saturday, or a Wednesday. Perhaps tomorrow is a Monday, and work will be looking at me like cappuccino coffee. It will be hard to work on it because I will have memories of the smoke. My legs are not stretching any further, like I am pulled by my muscles. My heart is beating fast, like am feeling a heart-attack. My hands are not touching because am on feeling the texture. And it is really smooth: the peeled skin and sweat.
If I knew I was walking to the direction of hell, I would turn, I would pick up the blades, and go back to the Garden of Eden. I would stop the blades by my own sword, and let every fruit get tasted again. Then I would know how sweet each was: and measure which to be eaten a lot. But I can’t! That one apple has given me enough suffering. A worthy suffering. A sweet-worthy-suffering. I better enjoy this than go back for more. They are dangerous and addictive, and let you want more, then punished forever: I don’t want that life!
At the end I raise my hands: It is all finished, it is all done: When I repent, I feel a new person, new soft blood flowing in me again. The fire now the cloud… You don’t want to leave it:you only want to curdle it, and keep in your heart.
Now you know how fire tastes: The feeling, the sweating and the blessings that come with it, and you promise never to burn again, but you want to again and again, it is fire that will keep me alive for you, tomorrow again. But now I can’t sleep no more.