I keep thinking about why I am where I am. Why I am being lied to by people
who don't actually need to lie.

I wait, and I watch. Always waiting. Listening to the drifting winds.
Listening to the hum of the engine. Listening to the voices around me.

In it all, I hear the wasteland in the lyrics, in the music. I hear the
swirling dust in the voices, the passing bugs, the trash drifting around my
ankles like a curious kitten.

And through it all, I feel the whirlwind around me. The torrent just out of
reach. Howling winds, blistering me with the heat of the fire they've
collected. So close, but too far to reach. Too far to stop. Too far to
block.

No matter how fast I run, I'm still in its eye. I don't get to join the
branches and leaves. I don't get to disappear into the consumption of it
all.

I have always been blinded by my own actions and choices, so the flames and
the smoke cannot be blamed for blocking the view of things my spirit will
not let me look upon.

I've been tired. Happy. Sad. Fractured. Lost. Inspired. Alone.

Still, it remains. Familiar. Protector. Tormentor. The whirlwind, howling
just out of reach.

The firedevil around me.
 
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