Hot wax dripping from some
she lost track of while chanting,
creates a sensation, caustic on her hand,
not quite pain, not quite oblivion.
She dreamt a burning fever-dream,
part illness, part mystery;
visions lit with dim lamps,
gods in which she disbelieves,
smiling faces portending horror.
Why is everything an unfathomable spell,
an dark incantation, a mist?
She deals herself the wrong cards,
which leer at her skeletally.
Everything burns her.
Caustic words spill out of the
dark cauldrons of her thoughts--
burning her, burning everything.
Everything she sought to escape
returns to her sevenfold.
Some simple formula
turns against her,
repaying her, with acid, within.