Burning, Passion
where we used to
touch I felt sparks that
burned me like the
cigarettes I press on
my skin while I
walk late at night
on Saturday, thinking
about you and me. You
forced me to fall back
into the familiar shell of
a corpse who can
breathe without a pulse.
You turned me
into a wilted girl
whose good feelings
could be extinguished as
easily as a flame on a candle
in a birthday cake. You
forgot that I was
there so I withdrew myself
and cloaked myself in
a blanket of angst and
wonder about you.
