Gyrating, twirling, arching, ever swaying
Tiny dancers, flowing in graceful waves
Yet the slightest puff of air and they shrink away
Something so beautiful and clear
Is deadly power disguised
The burn, the sting, the mark on the skin
But she loves the tiny dancers
And watches them lick her skin with glee
After the intense moment of pain
Everything is clear, she’s connected to the world around her
Her vision perfect, surrounded by the scent of damaged flesh
Her hearing picks up the beating of her heart
And cracking of the flame
The fire is her obsession, her addiction
Because only with the pain, can she truly be alive.

For those who wish to understand, have you ever noticed that after intense pain, you seem more aware of the world around you? It’s brighter, and clearer, and you hear and sense things better? It only lasts for a moment, but it happens. Some people use fire the way others use razors. As always, con-crit welcomed, flamers shall be laughed at.