Aberrant Arsonist

When you turned your back
my world turned with it,
and as you drove away
I drove the world away with you.
And when you said goodbye to me
so did I; I was done with me.
As you wrote all of me off
I wrote thoughts of you down.
When you turned the page on me
I wrote page after page about you.
As you continue to forget,
I continue to remember.
You might be in the same place but moved on,
I moved to a new place in a standstill.
You might be the same person with a new look,
I’m a new person with the same look.
I took your glasses off and helped you see;
yet with perfect vision you somehow went blind.
Your imperfections are what made you perfect,
and my desire for perfection is why my life is imperfect.
I would rather be alone than with someone else,
so in a twisted way you helped me to love myself.
I’d scour the earth and scourge her surface
if I got to hear your voice once more.
I’d write an anthology, burning the pages
if I got to see your eyes once more.
Sing to me, blink at me, I’d like to call that my dream,
but the dreams I have about you are always nightmares.
I guess I had a heaping pile of creativity
stored somewhere deep down, it’s flammable
and you sparked the match and ignited the fire,
but walked away before watching it burn.
You have no idea how far the fire has spread,
for this firebird has spread out his wings
and every time my fire dies and I burn out
I arise from my ashes with a spark of your memory.
So I thank you, aberrant arsonist, for your service,
and I hope that one day my fire spreads to you.


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