sometimes

it feels like

i'm a log

getting set up

for a fire.

helpless,

waiting to burn.

you're dousing me

in gasoline,

holding the match.

but darling

don't you understand

that willingly

i'll burn

as long as

the last thing i see

is you looking

at me.

we're chaotic,

beautifully disastrous.

i guess

burning for you

is almost poetic.

just think of

the flame

we'll create.

(you're killing me)