Sometimes people ask me why I look sad
I say it's because I'm tired
They ask why
I say it's because I didn't sleep
Another day comes
They notice it again
This time they don't ask
They merely mention a remark
I ignore it
Another day comes
They notice it again
Another day comes
What's there to notice?

We sat around a campfire talking
we laughed till we cried
we argued till we were lost
and it was a while before you noticed
the fire burning the marshmallows
but oh how I wished you would notice
the fire burning me
from inside and through
warming me up at first
then excruciatingly torching me whole
inside and through
leaving nothing behind
but a couple of hollow eyes
that wouldn't dare look at you
that sat there staring at our fire
so you wouldn't notice yours.

there once was a pyromaniac
he lit himself on fire
he should have panicked
but everything was just brighter
he lived from day to day
yearning to add to the pyre
he knew it to be easy
with a touch it would spread wildfire
but he was no devil
he could control his desire
so he lived in agony
even when his need grew dire
he'd never intrude unwelcome
almost like a vampire
but he was far too kind and reticent
to trap a victim whom he would squire
he scared them all away
with apathy and satire
he was too familiar with the anguish
his fire would inspire
he wanted to protect the beautiful souls
from the harm of its ire
he let his fire burn him to the ground
leaving nothing to quench the inquire
he watched as his fire ashed
his wings and invisibly divine attire
he let it consume him
alone, entire
there once was a pyromaniac
he lit himself on fire
he was resolutely resilient
he drove himself to the pyre
but in his final breath
he heard no lyre
he was a fool
that no one could admire
there once was a pyromaniac
he lit himself on fire
i would have held his hand
together nothing could conquer us, not the world, not a fire