August 18, 2019
Self harm
There is too much fire in me to be described by the soldering iron's tip.
I must not fear.
Were I to draw it across my skin, it would all spill out at once.
Fear is the mind-killer.
I'd melt, eaten whole by flames, and flow into a pool of molten glass.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
Sublimation would claim me, atoms would scatter, diffuse.
I will face my fear.
I would be borne up through the clouds, and grow lighter by the second.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
All that energy poured to the air around me, an imperceptible increase in temperature.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Particle would excite particle until I'm felt only as warmth on your face.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
But even that would not be enough.
Only I will remain.