Like someone burning:
I am.
Fifty different sounds swallowing
Pity, if any is left;
Sweat pools under my thighs,
My palms, 
Until I’m baking in my
Puddle of static and dust
Particles bundled together
And hacked back up.
A hairball.

Choking it all down,
I twist deeper into the flames,
Smoke pouring like blood.