Shlooooms

I am fire. I am ice. My chest is filled with unwavering, unforgiving cold, yet my heart burns with hopeful, fiery passion.

I am tired. I am set to spring. I am primed, eager, impatiently ready to pour out the volcano that is the love I could light infinite candles with.

I am worn. I am wearing and broken. I am painful, stoic, slowly being crushed by the pressure and fear of loneliness. Of nothingness. Of unfeeling. Or rather, the absence of feeling.

I am desperate. Like a flame seeking oxygen, wishing only for someone to open a window to let me breathe, to allow me growth, warmth, a future. To be reflected in the eyes of someone watching the beauty burning in my soul.

I am slow. Observing. Watching life pass me by like a glacier watches the world. Shuffling inch by inch, losing mass by mass, creeping closer to its inevitable death due to its surroundings, its environment, slowly choking it, sinking further into the forgotten.

I am burnt out. I am brittle. I am hurting with both the fire that roars within me with nowhere to go, with the freezing of my thickening skin losing hope of ever being warm again.

I am fire. I am ice.