The Gemini dances through the mind. An array of fire and pain. The whimsical way he moved, fleeting through life leaving lovely destruction in his wake. A wildfire in his step, turning fields to ash. The grass seemed greener on the other side, if only for the simple reason his foot had lit the green ablaze here.

Whimsical and wild, pirouetting in and out of the conscious, smoke rising from his self-immolation. He burned bright and bold.

The Gemini. An array of everything right and wrong in a person. He moved with a fear of stopping. As if to stop was a sign of submission. Being tamed an act of defeat he simply couldn’t bear. In the depths of his soot and ash, he would press coal to diamonds, wondering why any would choose standing outside the fire.

The Gemini. Cursed in such a beautiful way. A passion-hungry, love-junkie, injecting himself with affection under the dark blanket of the night. His needs lay in desire. To burn out was to die.

He hungered to feel something so deeply it calmed his senses and he could close his eyes. To stop him in his fiery tracks. A match, lit to match his light. 

Moving through his motions. To stop was to die. In his choreography he felt alive, as he skirted prescient precipices overlooking where destiny and reality crash violently against the sides.

There’s a simple reason people play with fire; to feel the warmth of life. 

Cracks from where fists left rose marked prints on the mirror above the sanguine pool in porcelain basin. The Gemini, a boy really, pulling his eyelids down to search for faint the shimmer of a soul. Seeking out a semblance of something intangible, yet so spectacular, it had to be there. Fading and tired, he danced along.

A broken child, unwilling to be chained. Searching flaws as if dumpster diving for redeeming qualities. 

The Boy, with his sick ideations of love and living wild. Of Romeo and Juliet. Infatuated with the idea of marrying love, lust and feeling alive. The sadness in his step evident, as he moved through brush, catching tufts of tender to fuel the flame. The melancholy in his movement, marking the world in such a way it would never be the same.

If it was worth anything, there was a heart of gold nestled in that ribcage. A well-meaning before the immolation. 

His song plays distantly still, the words on the tip of tongue. The chorus, hook and bridge always reminding of how strange of a place we exist. This life; where people don’t truly live.

The Gemini, a stranger in a foreign land. Unable to grasp the simplest of survival tactics like complacency. From a different plane, where people didn’t pride themselves in their ability to keep from going ablaze. People here don’t truly live, they move through the motions, comforted by stability.

The Gemini could never fall in line. Not with his hunger to consume being a driving desire. No, wild fires are never sated. He twirled through this masquerade, leaving bright oranges and reds in his wake.

Burning bridges and people all the same. His attempts to share his flame leaving burnt faces cooled by salty tears. Broken lips cursing his name.

His touch sincere, and full of love. The third degree burns leaving scars as his naive hands grasped hearts like baubles. A boy really, never taught the dangers of unchecked passion. Years of unrequited love left him with addled emotions, as he sought out the comforts of affection yet feared the uncertainty of stability and ever after. 

The Gemini sears through the mind, searching like a dope fiend for his favorite form of self-abuse.

Tears fall like rain in his wake. Tears, threatening to dampen his coveted flame. Broken, blazing and goddamn beautiful.

The Gemini dances along the forefront of the mind. Skirting through the consciousness before swirling into the subconscious, leaving only smoke behind.

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