you won't admit it
not even to yourself
but you love living on the edge
you love the possibility
of getting in trouble
you love feeling like you're in control
of throwing yourself in the fire
you claim you are careful
and that everytime you get in trouble
is an "accident"
but only those who truly love you
truly understand you
know the truth
that you'll always take an extra step towards the edge
park your car
a centimeter too close to the cliff
sit an inch too close on the open windowsill
smoke your cigarette a second too close
to when your mom walks in on you
you love having the control
and the lack of it
you want someone to notice you
you want someone to yell at you
you want to be blamed and accused
as long as that means
someone will look your way
as long as that means
that someone will look you in the eye
inside you're crying
inside you're dying
you want to start the fire
anarchy is what you crave
and yet,
you're always an inch too far
and an inch too close
from the war itself