The Enemy of My Enemy Is Me.

Love is passion. Passion is fire. Fire is uncontrollable.

It is either on or off. Fire can be passion but when burning too bright it is raging. Rage is painful. Rage knows no boundaries.

Raging fires ravage everything in range. No prejudice. Fires are then extinguished. Referred to as dead. Water is the enemy.

The tears of the burned. The tears of the hurt. The tears of the dead. They make sure the fire does not awaken again. But even in the light of day they dry.

And so this fire burns again.

Destroying everything built on the site of the last fire.

Coursing through the very veins of the new structure, until the sprinkler system kicks in:
The new inhabitants have heard of these fires? Or is it the ghost of the past fire saving the new souls from that fate…

The beast sits. Tries to cry. No tears come. Only more searing rage. Forearms on fire. Head ablaze. What torture.

Self absorbed prick.

Suffer. Suffer for those you love or loved.

This fire burns.

Lucid