when I'm in love, I am like coal.
by stoop-kid
you call me your fire,
but, honey, I'm burnt out.
and if I had a mouth of
sawdust and kerosene,
I'd spit on my flesh
to make up for the way
that my flames licked themselves
to ash and ember,
so I wouldn't have to
beg you to bring
your hands
through my hair
and over my chest,
so I could still keep you
warm.