Many write about the duality of life

The war between fire and ice


But those two words imply all the wrong feelings,

Associating heat with a burn,

And cold with another


For me, the duality is not between fire and ice,

But frigidity and immolation.


When I am cold, I am alone,

Shaking and shivering,

Dripping wet

As my thoughts echo through a dark that is impossibly thick.

All I want is a light.

Al I want is the warmth.


When I am warm, I am overwhelmed

With a passion so bright it overtakes my entire vision

My entire world.

I cannot reach out to others

For fear of spreading my horrid flames

So I am once again alone

Burning myself out

Until the inevitable cold returns


It is not that ice burns just as hot as fire,

It is that each burns worse than the other,

in a vicious cycle of aggression and submission

That only ends in isolation.


From each side, the other looks more appealing

But I have felt these changes enough

To know the lie behind these hopes


I wish I could drop the two feelings all together

I wish I could rid myself of this disorder

But reality can burn worse than any fire or freeze

And my reality is this:

I am not cold, I AM the cold.

I am not burnt, for I AM the fire.


Perhaps I must take a lesson from this knowledge.

I cannot rid myself of these feelings for I AM these feelings.

These scars have made me who I am today.

And perhaps my mix of warmth and cold

Just might mix well enough to spread light and comfort to those around me.