You and I
can't stop this
stupid attack upon
each other's poems
like a frostbitten
tongue lashing out
foolishly to the
cold.

You and I
can't leave the
past to be
the past because
then your burnt
lips would heal
and neither of
us like healing
because healing means
forgetting.

You and I
can't keep this
thing we have
going because when
I write about
the things I
did and do
I just can't
bring myself to
care about you
again because I'm
an inferno
and a simple
******* storm
be it rain
be it snow
be it love

Isn't going to
put out the inferno

But thanks for trying.