It must be maddening,
if not terrifying,
to be loved by me.
Attempts to temper me are useless,
For I can only love with flames
burning hot, bright, and white
like dazzling stars,
until smouldering embers
ignite everything I hold dear,
leaving brittle, black scars in my wake.
Even now, as the dreams I clutched too closely crackle and crumble,
my cheeks burn,
flushed with embarrassment and anguish,
and the grieving pouring down them is so hot, they could boil and steam.
My stomach churns with heat,
and I am a dragon heaving forth hell.
I am too impetuous, impatient, imprudent,
a relentless, tempestuous firestorm.
I am too many words too quickly,
A meteor shower of poetry and regret.