Crackling and cackling, spectres of past and future beckon
Home, hearth whispers, caressing temples of skepticism
The drum beats loudly against the ribs of brush and bone
A shaking hand scratches names on the flesh of paper
A smoke filled breath frozen in fear
The flames now lick, teasing submission
Blood shed in ink tossed as if bidden
Released like a dam upon a bonfire of regret
Years of yesterdays devoured in a second of surrender
Where once was fear, passion burns perfect present
The fleshy feathers of falsehood, scorched away
One now stands, where two erupted entwined
One will fly, where chains can no longer bind
In the smoke and ash, the Phoenix will arise
“She’s going to change the world, but she can’t…change…me” ~Chris Cornell
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Mah Butt Itches 
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