A first-person poem where the speaker transforms stress into dragon fire: a burning throat, ash-tasting tongue, the urge to destroy. Retreating into a cave alone, they find peace in darkness and cry tears that would spark if exposed to light. A ritual of naming chaos and finding quiet healing.
I am in the thick of stress and wrote this as a way to transmute and name what I'm experiencing. It's just a little poem. I titled it "When the Dragon Cries." The fire burns my throat, wanting an escape. My tongue tastes like ash. The urge to burn a village, to eat them all up, roars in my belly. But this fire is mine. For now, it is meant for me. I feel it churning, something no one seems to care to see. So I go deep in my cave and curl up, hugging myself tight. It's here I find peace, alone in the dark. It's here I shed the tears that in the light would burn to sparks.
