The image is still fresh,
When my middle school youth conjured you;
You were first an emotion,
The passion and anger erupting from me.
But then you cooled, turned to ice;
You came to look like my doppelganger,
Only with red eyes and orange hair.
I named you Blaze.
This cooling wasn’t caused externally,
only until my pen touched this poem did I know it was my doing;
I couldn’t withstand your brilliance and heat;
You raged like a wildfire, an infinite conflagration.
I am called to you
(or maybe you are called to me,
This maudlin, erratic, but finally content lot)
Our destiny is in our embrace.
Inevitability dictates our intimacy will be short,
For I am man and you are inferno;
You then, are my end, the vice around my neck tied by Ananke.
I accept what comes, I accept the flames.