Fire Extinguisher

The old extinguisher is spilling dust onto the living fire. It is finally empty and no replacement is near. And the flame feeds on. The fire slowly drags its eager fingers along my panicked skin as it senses my vulnerability, and I curse the traitorous tool cackling at my feet. No sirens bring hope to the fray, and the temperature steadily rises. My lungs char, and I chant my death poem as my body turns to ash.