Answer:
Searing 'cross the pitch-black skies I scream in celebration Yet moments later my outburst through I am naught but imagination.
Marking mortal privation when firmly in place. An enduring summation inscribed in my face.
I can speak with my hard metal tongue. But I cannot breathe, for I have no lung. What am I?
A hundred arms, a thousand fingers, but I have no eyes to see where I linger. What am I?
I hold two meanings. With one I may be broken, with the other I hold on. What am I?
When someone uses this acronym, you know you've got to pick up the pace