Like wind wrapping me, blowing me over, you sway me. You annihilate me as you throw some more wood on me.
And I'm piled with branches and twigs and whilst chunks of bark keep burning, I get filled with dead leaves and some more sticks.
By kicking in some plants, higher flames arise trying to impose themselves and to gain some more ground; but they eventually get dimmed by heavy puffing smoke that howls and stifles at times, in a fight where they propel each other.
So those arms of flames grow behind the smoke, and sometimes they defiantly swell and all of a sudden they step back, daunted by some threatening materials trying to weaken them. However, the more they get threatened, the more they eventually resist.
Will I ever get tired and step away? Will I ever give in and surrender to your willingness? I dress up, I downsize myself and turn down the volume of my voice… and I wonder if I will ever pull myself out of this.