She is fire,
bright and dangerous.
She could be a campfire,
warming friends,
gathering people about her
to share in laughter.
She could be a hearth-fire,
steady and dependable,
constantly burning
to provide and warm those she cares for.
Instead,
she raged, rages,
an inferno that scorched,
possessive
it sucked the air from lungs
until there was no one left to consume,
when she collapsed on herself,
dying embers
flickering with what she had been.
Those who cared tried to breathe life back into her,
to give her the air she longed for,
hoping we'd see again
the warming fire
that had brought so much comfort before.
Instead,
she blazed again,
so we ran,
rather than be burned again,
though it broke our hearts to save our lives.
This. Yes.
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