I have thin filaments that act as my mantle, or I theirs, and use me like a marionette.

They are what makes me laugh and be hopeful around you.
When you speak I become alight with happiness and they near their melting point.

They are what makes me dream about you.
A searing hot star that burns bright enough to bring them to their melting point, but not past it.

They are what makes me cry and flounder when I think about you.
My muffled cries cannot hope to compliment and accompany your angelic voice.

They are what makes me want to end it all when I think about how you don't even think about me.

My filaments feed on that moment, on the freezing low that only comes when you can see paradise in sight and you lose your grip.