There has been a wildfire set beneath my skin
and courses through the dryness of my veins.
Do I dare fight fire
with fire once more?
Is it not proven to take under control the dancing flames?
How am I expected to breathe when all there is left is soot and ash?
You told me once
it was all in my head,
and how badly I wanted to believe you,
but how can it be if there is dust seeping from wounds you opened.
I cannot see past this.
I cannot feel my fingers
but someone is holding the blade.
Forget me like I forgave you.
Creep yourself into the corner or my dark empty room.
Light your goddamn match
and when it burns out,
keep denying it like you always do.
Convince me I was the one who blew it out.
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