I will never speak
With her voice,
My words don't waft an air of intelligence,
They neither hypnotize nor engage you,
As hers do.

I will never look like a movie star as she did,
My hair doesn't fall softly around around my face
It curls and frizzes,
It's wild, not calm,
I can't mesmerize you with my glamorous beauty,
Nor catch your breath and hold your gaze,
The way she does.

I will never hear your words float on air to me,
A song so sweet, like her,
Closing your eyes as you sing, your muse takes shape.
My fingers don't pluck your heart strings like hers,
Your songs are for her ears alone.

I will never spark your love the way she did,
Your passion for me will not produce searing flames that crackle and burn, sending fire burning through every inch of your being.
Instead I burn my fingers as I kneel at the edge of your dwindling fire, trying to ignite some sort of fire from the embers of the flames you once shared.

I'm playing with fire and I'm getting burned,
But no cream will heal my wounds
So by your fire I'll stay, and play
Until someday you burn what's left of me
And scatter my ashes in the the dust.