A Metaphor of Mute

This time around, no one's here
this time I'm all alone
Currents of heat draw me in closer,
The ghost of an industrial pyre.
Metal rings glow hot below me...
Where has the catalyst fled?

Corridors black, far from the day,
all I know are these depths.
Burning inside the world, trapped safely apart
Here is my shelter, a home from the cold
But so is my prison, this hold from a touch.

No Denial, she always knew where the tremulant had gone
So Alive, yet broken by the drone of machines from all around
Here I Am, burning inside my scarab with no release
Stay Awhile, and turn off the locks in my skull.