She Is Uncommon

She worships the tip of a flame’s extended tongue.  The singed skin is a kiss for a devoted follower.  The pain unleashes screams held dormant in her being, nothing else can let them out and if they remain they will rot her from the inside.  She knows the power of fire and how it can be freeing.  She knows the power of fire and how it can destroy.  She knows the balance and prays for each at the right time.
The churches of gods could not quench her thirst.  She cannot believe in something that begs to be believed in.  There can be no faith when faith has contingencies.  Worship is worthy only of what pulls the feelings from her abdomen and makes her drop to her knees.  Respect is only given to what she finds beauty in.
The animal dies for her and she devours everything that is offered.  The animal in her offers everything to be devoured.  She kills and is killed.  Demons follow her but she is not scared.  She will not fear something that hunts her out of morbid curiosity.  They try to find her purpose but cannot understand what is too simple.  She is not like them.
At midnight she finds her bliss under the moon’s eye.  Bathing naked in the water under the moonlight cleanses her flesh of a world that will never be ready.  She doesn’t need them.  Her purpose isn’t their concern and they cannot end her life by quieting her body.  There is no voice to hear.  She is alive through the kiss of the flame and will keep burning in the night.  She will live in those shadows whenever they’re born.

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