Broken

'm not a terra cotta vase, I "break" but you don't see it. 

I'm a pile of charcoal, the deep white, red embers hidden within a shell of dusty black. It appears calm and unchanged, until a piece falls off the facade of black wood, then does the fiery heat burn with the intensity it has always been burning underneath, only now exposed like a fresh wound, the air only strengthens the flames and they soar higher, burning through the entire outer layer. 

These layers were only temporary, even these flames are temporary, I know I will soon die out. But for now, I am burning bright, hot, intense and oddly fascinating. The heat and flames that have so bad wanted release has finally broken through the bland, rocky surface. I am no longer a broken nor enraged, I am pure living energy, a bird flying dangerously close to the sun. I love it.