Your love was a fire you lit only sometimes,
leaving me otherwise of its warmth deprived.
The emotional heaving of my chest
for the pain you caused me was best
expressed in the dark of night,
where you couldn't see my inner fight.
Your love was not just a stab to my chest
but a slow twist of the knife.
I was left to mend myself alone,
then perform as though I was brand new
every time.