It's coming down.
It's coming down on me.
A night-black fire
Reigning from the sky
Brought by red-driven clouds
Of scorn and apathy.
I can't outrun it.
I never could.
It always catches me
And I burn
From the inside out.
By the time I show it
It will be too late
And, damage done,
I will fall.
On my knees I will beg
In purple-frothed insanity
With green-backed desperation
As the flames reach for my soul
And the moment will speak,
Tell if I am truly weak
Or just variably strong.
Always before I have found that strength.
But sometime
I will not.
And when the moment speaks
I will die
A blue-rimmed death.
