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He is Fire

I feel him. I can sense his eyes. His deeply entrancing eyes. His eyes that can see straight through me. Straight through my thick skin. My skin acts as an army, protecting the country of my soul. My soldiers are dying, they are being vaporized by his nuclear eyes.
Why do I put up this barrier? Why do I always make him fight his way through my cold stares and harsh words?
I won't let him come close enough to hurt me. Close enough to break me and then throw me away. I am afraid of the heat that causes my eyes to water. I have cried my last tear.
I have watched to many houses burn down.
I've breathed that thick, smoky air. I have touched that fire. I have let it engulf and burn through my skin all the way to the bare bone. I have let the flames lick up my already wounded, weak body.
I don't need another fire to injure my spirit. I need water. I need to drown in it, I need to feel it leak into my lungs and overpower the hot blood in my veins.
But he is fire. His blaze melts my skin and leaves me out of breath. Dehydrated without pure,
smokeless air.
I choke as I venture into the inferno knowing everything that I'm risking, including my innocence. I know about his ability to cremate good souls. I know how the devil whispered in his ear with smoldering breath that could have incinerated the skin off his neck.
He uses those demonic tricks on me. The tricks Satan purred to him. They singe and seduce my senses. They send me back to the blazing dessert of his body, lacking the hydration I need to live. My mouth becomes dry and my tongue can no longer moisten my crimson lips that desperately thirst for water.
I should no longer play with matches. I should play with rain, or the ocean.
Water.
Maybe I enjoy the white hot fire that reflects inside his enchanting eyes. Maybe this demonic deal is and has always been permanent
I realize deals with the devil send you straight to hell, but maybe hell will be better than living without him.



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