Fire

There's a fire in my heart.
Where it sits and writhes and burns.
And I tire and I tumble from the venom that it spurns.
Does the world I interact with see me kindly or with hate? Would they rescue me, or watch me as they leave me to my fate? Could I stand up to the bullies and the terrors in the night? And how do I discover if these dogs will bark or bite?

There's a fire in my brain.
When I'm tired and depleted.
So I wonder and I ponder of the ways that I am treated.
And do I so deserve this? Should I find a clever quip? Fight back or scare it off —force the narrative to flip? In my favor or against, do I really care at all? Is the likelihood of victory still worth it if I fall?

There's a fire in my stomach.
And I'd rather it was not.
It feels queasy and uneasy and discordant in that spot.
Should I even bother then, to investigate this state? Would it let me turn the tables or already be too late? Can I force it, can I chase it, from the darkness of this pit? Can I stomp and scream and holler, or erase it with some wit?

There's a fire in my eyes.
And here it feels okay.
I will use it and peruse it just a little if I may.
Let me find the clever meanings. Will they answer, will they fuel? Will they understand my gesture or decide me to be cruel? Can I keep them dancing maybe, to the rhythm of this beat? Let me coax them ever gently, to their imminent defeat.

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WC: 284

Edits: formatting and the likes