A sort of poem, from Tumblr

ladies who among us isn’t full of rage, just apocalyptically angry at all times

It’s there, smoldering under a layer of soil.

Smoldering, because it’s been starved of oxygen for so long.

Still hot, you’ll burn your fingers if you dig down deep.

You uncover the embers and they scream into life, bright and blinding

Until

Get a bucket of sand, push the flames back down where they belong, hidden so they can’t hurt anyone

But down underground they are still reaching out

tendrils of heat and smoke

turning wood into charcoal

And charcoal burns hotter than wood

It takes a breath of air and burns bright

keeps burning and

burns to

ash. Can’t burn, can’t breathe

not like a fire, or a tree

Just blows, drifts on the wind

You breathe it in and it scrapes your lungs

Because even burned to ash

Even when there’s nothing living left

I will reach out

with short-bitten fingernails

And tear at whatever piece of you I can reach

--
the title was a tumblr post that crossed my dash several times, and then it decided it needed to be a poem.
i dunno man don't ask me I just work here