The heat of this house - a poem

The heat of the house - the air is boiling, dry,

Look upon me, how my sockets char and fry,

Flesh and bone, they blister with each passing breath,

And you ask for more, more be more - such a cruel request.

My hands drip with vomit and the sweat of my distress,

The fire's thunderous snaps, they leave behind a mess,

I am the prophet of this burning home,

With each step, the ground beneath me starts to groan.

Look into my face, watch my skin melt and drip,

Eyes that boil in their sockets, a sight to make you trip,

My mind a blur, I cannot focus or see,

The heat of the house has taken all of me.

Drenched in bile, I shake and writhe and spit,

You scream for more, more be more - I won't submit,

The match you lit, you've long forgotten your sin,

I am the sacrifice to this infernal grin.

Look at me now, as I fall to the ground,

My flesh consumed, my bones turn black and sound,

The heat of the house, a nightmare come true,

It burns us all, and now it's coming for you.