My mind is a burning lava. Hot, fiery, shameful. My hope is an uncontrolled hydrant, chaotic, messy. But almost always I'm that crispy macintosh in November. Raspberry jam on toast. I hide like a chocolate covered  Strawberry waiting to be bitten. Carefree, compassionate Cranberries in the winter. A firecracker longing to be lit. Moms favorite lipstick shade. Callus, cruel lobster claw scratching at my existence.