The Fire Burns Red

The slight burn in my forearms is an echo of reality. Reminding of the here and now. Reminding that my arms have been locked straight for hours now.

It should be of no surprise that I have been standing in front of this mirror. Working through the words. The winding conversations of my past. Looking for some glimmering truths. Some defining diamonds.

As always I do not see myself. For that is something I can not do.

I glance down to the tube of lipstick that resides in my hand. Just standing there shouting at me in Fire Engine Red. Appearing much like the free standing ruins of some by-gone age. Another haunting reminder.

Slowly I use it to etch on the reflective canvas that stands before me.

God so loved the world that he granted us the majestic gift of fire.

So that we may burn ourselves, and learn.

Greatly pleased with his success. He then gifted us with love.

So that we may burn ourselves again, and again.

Ah! These pretty, petty phrases that I have deemed worthy of defining my life. They burn throughout the night, in Fire Engine Red, for all the world to see.

The rest? Well the rest is simply emptiness.

Yet, who am I to deem such things as simple?

This is the power of the pen. Or lipstick.