I hope you have another drink
I hope it tastes as sweet as you like them
I hope it burns just the right way
I hope it makes you warm inside
I hope it keeps you happy
I hope you have another drink
I hope it tastes like the last one
I hope it burns all the same
I hope it ignites a flame inside you
I hope it keeps you sane
I hope you have another drink
I hope it tastes like hell
I hope it seeps into your bloodstream and burns your whole body
I hope the fire inside consumes you
And I hope it doesn't keep you alive

You are the scars on my chest.
The deep lines like an epitaph engraving right below my heart.
Each scar a ****** stanza
of the poem
you know you wrote.

Sparklers, fireworks and simple flame has drawn my attention since I was young.
I almost set my moms apartment ablaze at 5 years old.
She said,
"You play with fire, and you'll get burned. Or worse, you'll burn everything down."
She never told me that one day a boy would set a fire in my soul and never return to put it out.
She never told me I'd have to water it down to unusable kindling.
She never said that wet wood would warp.
She never told me that cutting off the oxygen would suffocate me, too.
I guess she shouldn't have to though, because if you play with fire, you could burn it all down.
I just never thought that "all" would mean me.

It's you.

It's always been you,
Even when I put myself in strangers arms.

When I got too drunk and said I needed you,
I meant it.

It was you,
Even when I kissed the boy with crooked teeth and a drug problem.

The time I ate mushrooms and told you how sorry I was,
My god I meant it.

It has always been you,
Even when I held hand with that one kid just because I forgot what it felt like.

When I screamed about how I never should have let you slip through my fingers on my best friends kitchen floor at 3 A.M,
I ******* meant it.

It was still you,
Even when I let you best friend wrap his hands around my neck and plant his insincerity in my brain just so I could feel something,
ANYTHING, after so much numbness.

Believe me when I say it was you when I was hooked on ******* because it embraced me in warmth like you did, when I smoked 11 cigarettes a day to cough away thoughts of you, when I did painkillers at a party to feel that deep feeling of utter nothingness but no one told me it wasn't for the emotional kind of pain.
It was you.
You.
It was you when I hit your head off the wall and said 'I love you'. I meant it. I have always meant it. I still do. It was you. And it still is. And it will always be you.