I suck my fingers until they’ve cooled.

The fire logs are barely moved.

For just a moment, I forgot the heat,

The glowing red, the burning meat,

Had changed to ash and broken dust,

The pain begins to flake like rust,

And since all things must truly fade

I feel a question I can’t evade

Rise up into my fingertips.

It leaves a taste upon my lips,

Like words caught in saliva soot,

It rests and steps down to my gut

Where acids break down dreams,

Where enzymes make me mean.

My fingers hurt, and that’s okay.

I’ve realized life inside a daze.