You like to play with fire, but you pretend you're cold around the edges.
Though you talk a smooth game, your eyes play a different position.
I know you like the way it feels--
To be noticed by someone other than the one you love. Or pretend to love.
But what about her? The one you pretend to love?
She watches you skim the flames out of the corner of her eye. She notices the steps you take towards the scorching idea of something better, something hotter, some one more fit for you.
And with every move towards that light, you take a bit from her.
You make her the cold you pretend to be.
You make her the insecurity you dance around.
You make her the bitterness you create.
She feels her skin peeling away from the third-degree burns that your quiet infidelity torches.
Where your candle once lit lies a broken match unable to spark.
And no one can fix it, no one can stop it.
You're playing with fire, but she's getting burned.