I was fire, but you weren't wood
Instead, you were water
bringing me down and trying to put me out
Suffocating my flames, all of my being,
And changing me in to a pile of useless ash
I wanted to fight back, but I was drowning
And you were laughing and screaming "Learn how to swim!"
But sometimes you were gasoline
Lighting me up and taking me higher than I had ever been before
The crisp cool air filled my lungs
I think that's what made me stay
The way you would make light up, but also cool down
But eventually I saw
how we, and everything around us went up in flames
The smoke burned my lungs, and brought tears to my eyes
And I realized you were toxic
The words leaving your mouth
bringing me up and putting me down
leaving scars on my body where they touched
Every part of you is as toxic as chemical waste.
I was fire, but you weren't my wood.
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