Stoke the fire room
My mind needs heat
my heart does too
The room under the hill
In this forest at the ends of the earth
It is table upon table of wood atop each burning
Inside the shadowed room
The entrance a mouth speaking
little sparks and bursts of heat
lips and tongues are flames
There are no eyes to discern
For the burning is the blindness itself
The internalness the living close to ones own hot heart
Pumping the fire through earth of body
The scream of existence
That only really stops
when you drop dead
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