Rage, rage, rage

Rage, Rage, Rage...

The fires of my wrath that swell within me,
dare not spill out of the kiln of my burning heart.

I am not in my element, except...
but, for when the flames that engulfs me
from within and outward.

For only,  if it was your touch,
that would quell my torment,
I would be at bliss.
But it is not to be...

This summer's blaze is lonesome and cold,
in measure to what I feel within me,
the kindling of my hopes, the smoldering of my dreams, the withering of my love.

Perhaps, just perhaps, it will die out on it's own,
or perish me with it.