My skin caught on fire at the...

My skin caught on fire at the start of this write— I burned this very message type after type, sitting beside my cat in the tinder blankness of night. Me and a cup of Joe under one previously dwindling little work light. Never mind the smell!! The burnt plastic keys are lost, but replaceable! This time and space consuming these ’hales at the drafting table, this wayward display of interpersonal care, flares but for a moment before running out of air. And tonight, by bonfire light, I write and I write—Do you see the potential conflagrating in such a sight?