white hot

white hot
kelly grace smith

White hot,
it moves frenetically about the room.

Steam rolls off it - dark, vaporous
sheets of wrath.

Haunting, hunting, circling, round and round;
I watch it stalk the prey.

It seethes, fumes, foams
at the mouth.

Your friend, whom you keep so close to you, so very
close to you;
by your side at all times.

Ever present, but never acknowledged;
your cruel, constant companion.

You treat him with courtesy, even deference;
you consult him on all matters.

And I wonder,  

There are no introductions; he is aloof, elusive, wary. 
His fury vibrates right behind
his eyes.

It is as though he is an insidious part of you;  
his energy wound round you like a tangled, taut web
of wire.

He hovers and threatens and snarls
like a sadistic guard dog.

And then, I see it.

It is you
who are guarding him.

You make certain no one gets too close; never close enough
to touch him.

You cater to his every need, every appetite, like an indentured servant;
a frenzied, frantic, manic, slave.

Indeed, it is you who are protecting him;
guarding him,
guarding him with your life.
Giving him
your  life.

Your friend, your guard dog;
your cruel, constant, ever present companion.