I held my breath in halls of smoke,
Where silence spoke the words I choke.
A flicker flared beneath my skin—
A serpent coiled, a scream within.

No thunder cracked, no heavens cried,
Just steady sparks I brushed aside.
The mirror smiled with lips of glass,
And let the crimson moments pass.

By then, the flame had found its name,
But all the ash looked just the same.
I reached for peace with ember hands,
Unknowing of the blood that stands.

The thing with wrath—it wears no face,
Just empty rooms and hollow grace.
You’ll count your scars in shades of red,
Long after all the words are dead.