Some people are ice. Sub-zero kings and queens, shards of frozen eyes like cubes that hardly melt. One touch in frostbite, a touch of the soul that tears the skin from from fingertips and strips the pink from lips.
And people are fire, white hot light and blurred-blue flame. Spewing heat that draws you in, closer to the core, moths that dance on the glow of a fiery torch, destroyed by love they dream no more.
I need to burn. I need to freeze and fuck and fight. I long to burst into flames and consume the earth, or be burnt and turned to ash by life. If I could freeze I'd die by ice and rest my soul as cold as night.
