Firetips

Fire flowed, following her fingertips as she danced with the dreams of cadavers. Her elusive scent dangled in the box that held her soul in purgatory. She opened, to fear and passion while she was a million miles away. She settled the night with her melting tounge drawing off what she desired. After tomorrow she will realize her mistakes of the future. The lingering electric slide is all she left, along with a pit in the center of the eart. Under soil she dwells on the recoil of life, and screams at the subtle feeling of death. Her skin is soft, milky white under her eyes. Her hair is smooth, deeper under the covers. Her frail figure weeps at the moon, as she stares at the floor. Her sorrow cannot br overcome, for her altered state overwhelmed all reason.