I think of someone with a flamethrower when I think of you.
Burning the world,
Yet making it colder too.
I almost want him to.

Why do I want this?
I'm an idiot,
Filled up with options.

A quill to ink,
A certain realization.
That these have been,
The words you have written.

It was rare love alright,
Only...
You rarely loved me,
The way you thought you did.

One day I'll tear this ******* choker from my neck.
I can't believe I've ever thought it's ever brought me strength.
Realistically,
It's made a joke of every single breath.
Yet still it seems so clear to me,
That there's still some magic left.

As if something rough around the edges,
Can't still be ******* splendid.
You think just because it's perfect,
It'll have some happy ******* ending?

Now I know I'm not over her,
But don't really know why.
And I haven't wanted to cut myself,
In quite a long time.
So how do I synchronize,
These little red lines?
I don't quite remember,
But I'll remember to try.

Conceited beings,
So similar to the evil in your genius.
The right parts.
With the wrong reasons.