The war begins
when the skin becomes fire
flames from the fingertips to the feet
burning and burning
against the charcoal sky
teasing the stars
and melting the snow
in a fairytale
where lies and truths are
ivy vines, tangled together.
Black fights gold, darkness fights light
and the flesh beneath what once was skin
hides from its coating:
as the fire hisses, and expands
the body shrivels.
It shall not
turn to ashes.
No matter what
it shall
carry on.
Outside, the crickets fly through the smoke
but inside, it’s getting colder
and now the body is spinning like
clay on a potter’s wheel
faster and faster
and soon
heart blends with bones and mind,
the fire dies out
and no one has won.