Burning Man

The flames lick and hiss...begging me to creep closer, I remain just out of reach.The plumes of hazy smoke fill my lungs as my cheeks grow hot and begin to welt. My legs give out from beneath me, I hit the floor with a thud. My vision blurs as the lucid paints a layer over my iris and i begin to cry. They spit and hiss at me while they scale the walls, consuming every hundred dollar piece of paneling. Though the heat that hits me like a punch in the face surrounds me, i get to my hands and knees and begin crawling towards the door. Every inch closer i get seems like an extra ten feet away. The flames cackle in delight, they feel me weakening. The fire begins to eat away at the flooring till the only pieces of aged cedar left are the ones I'm kneeling on, and a path to the door.

My fingers grasp the brass knob, but before i open it to freedom the knob grows molten hot tendrils that peel my fingers off one by one. I look behind me only to see the carefully constructed compound of my own mind in charred remains. Every fear, emotion, person I've ever hated; they all run free fueling the fire as it consumes me in it's wrath.

But the question I ask you is how a an copes with everyday life while his mind begins to fall apart. For if you could see it every panel, every floorboard, every fiber lay untouched. But a disheveled man lay on the floor in a puddle of broken glass and whisky.