I wish you'd have dug your nails deep into my skin until my blood warmed your hands.
I wish you ripped me in half until all my lies poured out like water for you to drink in.
Just drink it in.
Ever dreaming of crumbling into your arms and feeling sorry for staining your shirt.
Let my inconsistencies, my failures, my lies, and insecurities evaporate into the sun.
I wasn't lying when I said you'd hold that piece of my heart.
The courage to set myself on fire as evaded me.
No matter the pain, it'd be poetic justice to feel the sting of death and letting the grave hold its victory.
Which would you be?
The matches or the gasoline?