Internal Combustion

I saw the flames rising as I slowly lifted the covers from my face.
My eyes were assaulted by a light I did not wish to see
I shrugged false security from my body and jumped into my robe,
rushing down the hall - I could hear the fire growing.
I felt it consume my papers, my books, my pictures, my stories.
It sputtered and danced as it coursed the carpet,
divining dirt lost for ages from the soles of old shoes.
The fire roared into the hallway and I fled in terror,
my robe flying off to cover my hasty retreat, 
the flame's heat kissing my neck as it absorbed that feeble covering.
Finally I found a door and grasped the knob,
reflex shoving my hand away from the superhot metal,
my hand rejecting my only hope for escape.
I turned to meet my doom,
ready for my death.

The flash of a mirror caught my eye,
and I chanced a glance to see my terrorized reflection,
but all I could see was the roaring fire as it crept down the hall,
into my hiding place,
near an exit that was not an escape.

I cried in vain, I cried for hope
somehow the tears could stop the flame,
delay it, give me time.
But it kept jumping, pouncing, screaming, growing,
consuming, crackling, lighting and burning.
And at last it caught up.

I turned to the mirror in futile plea,
but the vision there terrified even more,
there I stood, right behind myself,
about to completely absorb myself.