2:22 A.M.

Numbers that are, but shouldn't be
wrapped around my brain, a thin
strand of string pulled tight at the
knot, as if to say, "Please do not
unravel." A dance-like ritual is
always circling back, back to the
fondest memory, and she is the
fire heathens dream of -
heathens like me. Her
smoke is an intoxicant, her flames
serpentine through tremendous
voids in perception; they tread
without, but I... I burn to find a
safer place.