Close mouthed,

I tried to devour myself in my sleep,
all tight lipped and tongueless—
hours after you left me
with only an unbeating heart
keeping me company.

Callused fingers made me shiver,
but never managed to make me burn.

Instead, they left me feeling cold—
a frostbitten liar with a snake for a tongue.

An unnamed poetic.

I'm dreaming of red skies
and dragons of old—
I'm begging, and I'm begging,
and I'm begging—Please—warm me up.

Set fire to these bones—
Give me a real reason to scream.

Because, there rests an old poet
in the farthest reaches of my soul
and she longs to fight this fire with flames.

[  As she's learned the tricks of her trade
  only conversing with Monsters.          ]