The Fire that Rages

I look at her,

scoffing at her disguise
as she paints all the madness
with a colorful smile.
She walks as if her tongue
hasn’t been aching to scream.
She talks as if I do not
burst as the seams.

I tell her to let go
and she shuts me up,
telling me that I
would eventually evaporate.

I laugh
not in confusion
but in disbelief
for she does not see what I see.

What I see as a red blazing fire
to bring back my justice,
she sees as a vulnerability
that would hinder her status.

She does not know
that I am no foe.
I am both her weapon
and her shield.

I am her caution
and the fire she never wields,
until the day it gathers
becoming a river of lava destroying everything

For she does not realise 
that when she walks
and hears a snake
whisper self-pity into her ear,

I begin to paint a canvas
using colors galore.
The snakes slither by,
she wonders why

and I use the brush
to get the canvas familiar to my touch.
Soon, the snakes shed their skin to reveal
what was under all that appeal

and I chuckle,
glancing at the canvas I made
then compare it to her feelings
on that awful day.

I compare my prediction with hers
and I laugh when I see a similar reflection
as she wallows and looks at me
as if I had betrayed her.

She will never understand
my fire and my rage
but she does get closer
to understanding the meaning

behind my good name.
She does not enjoy my company
yet I see her more and more
which that my flames weren’t

so hot to the touch
so she would one day
turn to give me an embrace
to not be hurt by her own case.