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Where the Fire Has No Door

It burns in me,
this dark‑red wanting,
a hunger with no name
and no place to rest.

It coils behind my ribs,
a storm that never breaks,
a spark that never finds
the tinder it was promised.

I carry it quietly —
this ache, this heat,
this shadow‑kissed desire
that claws for release.

But the night gives no answer.
The world gives no opening.
So it smolders,
slow and merciless,
a flame trapped in its own cage.

And I walk with it,
breathing embers,
pretending I am not burning
from the inside out.