Glass Noodle Soup

These sting
These gooey, slippery strings that torch my tongue,
Rising from the fiery hell soup
Made by my cayenne-happy hands.

They burn a trail down my throat, to my gut,
While chased by lava and goodness.
Remnants of pepper explode in my mouth, like a million mines,
And I sip cool air to soothe, as I slurp more soup.

I bear with it gladly
To the last drop.
It’s dining on a teaspoon of pain, and the rest pleasure –
My favorite thing.

The blaze wanes to a candlelight.
Where full focus leaves, tranquility follows.
A glass of warm milk, a mug of hot cocoa,
A lullaby in disguise – my soup.

(AN: Dunno if it makes sense, but the last part was a new discovery. I never realized that I always felt relaxed and sleepy after eating my super spicy soup. I wish I thought of it several hours ago. I can’t sleep for long anymore because it’s too late, so I’ll take a short nap. Tomorrow I’ll eat it before a normal person’s bedtime, so that I’ll be normal, too! LOL)