Scorching the Innocent

The aching which ripples through me
in ever widening waves,
permeates each pore,
suffusing it in the lament
for one to encircle me,
wrap me up, penetrate
to fill all those empty holes.
And yet I fear
for touch may burn skin,
sear the soul, the rage within me
seeking appeasement
still seeks the source
and not having divested itself
upon its owner –
knows only to burn all
who have come close and seek
to infiltrate hallowed halls
and so I, feeling the flames
flickering so close to the surface,
turn away from gentle touches
that I not be the bearer
of a scorching that maims.

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