Have you ever wanted to touch something really bad? You know you shouldn’t, but there is an urge, it hurts but it feels so good.

Have you ever pinched yourself to feel the pain? Have you ever slit your wrists, feeling the tingling sensation before the fire rushes up, blood gushing as it falls to the floor in circular splats?

You know you shouldn’t enjoy the sting of a cold blade, or the burn of fire against your skin. But you do, is that so wrong?

You sit, watching the flame flicker behind the glass, throwing you into a calm state of mind. You hear the voices chanting, telling you to reach out and touch it.

Touch it…

Touch it…

Touch it…

They whisper in eerie chants. A chorus like no other- an anchor binding you to the world and what hides behind that raging fire, licking flames and smoke tendrils.

You breathe in the woody scent, your lungs screaming for more. And you must… you must give them what they wish- whether it be a death wish or the pure pleasure of pain.

And so you open the beautiful glass, your fingers reaching toward the flames. Your hand is wobbly from the heat as you lean forward… your skin bubbling peeling, brain racing.

And you touch it.