Around me, all there is
Is rage.

The heat burns
Searing itself into my skin
A caution, lest I think to myself,
“It will get better with time.”

I blaze
At a love scorn, a most generous love
Answered with nothing
But endless, endless greed.

I do not think it will ever get better.
Ashes do not turn back into flames.

The phoenix is a thing
Of myths, and this
Is our
Reality.