Fire and Ice

Words burn inside of my weak, weary lungs.
My cold, steel lips keep them trapped below.
It is because of you,
the way you smile,
the way you speak
that ignites the fire within me,
but my frozen exterior holds it all back.
The flames heating my blood,
boiling it as my strained heart
pumps the molten fluid through my veins.
A dirty mixture of steam and sweat
burst from my pores,
filling my nostrils with the smell
of my own charred flesh,
clouding my mind
with thoughts of you.
My fingers break
with each letter I write.
My words becoming as twisted
as the crumpled appendages,
that I once called my hands.
My written words are only a facade,
a pathetic attempt at conversation.
You'll never truly know my words,
unless you turn me inside out,
but my body has no zipper,
no buttons or clasps,
and my steel exterior,
impossible to tear.
For now, I shall remain,
with fire in my lungs,
and ice in my skin.
I am the first and last example
of spontaneous combustion,
but you'll never see it,
you will never know.
To you I am nothing more,
than a cold, quiet body,
keeping a proximity to you,
ever so safe, ever so far.
Straining to break the bonds,
that will hold me back for a lifetime.