Fire

She acts in perfect solitude,
In the sweet womb of the night,
Panic-struck in monolithic violence,
Moaning vowels through thin walls.

Recording stressful images.
She never payed attention to
All the kinetic paintings;
Eager to freeze the burning apathy.

The flames aroused from anguish
Off her delicate fingers they dropped
On the floor tiles. Yet the raging inferno
Ended up complimented by tears
And turned to crimson red.

All that's left was smoke.

Notes: self injury carefully drowned in metaphors. Try to think of some yourself - make it interesting, make it original - make a difference.