nobody pursues love like those who have let it go up in smoke.
you scrape through the forlorn tales of your youth in hopes of grasping warmth from a dying matchstick. you forget how to speak, fading away from conversation while the party turns into lurid flames of rosy cheeked people in love. you have never felt so alone. you quarry for affection in silver haired men by a withering kitchen candle. you leave again, naked and bruised. you scoop up your companions who drown their fridays in tacky vodka, in hopes of kindling tenderness. you know it's not happening. you stand on cold linoleum, waiting for the steam to melt your skin away while you recount your regrets. a phone call could equate to a forest fire. you watch as your lies incinerate your past. you can't run forever. you gaze fondly at girls who are ablaze with desire. you wonder if they rot on the inside too. eyes gleaming with sensuality, torching the crowd's tribulation away. you are envious. you could sear like the sun if you were cradled by the hearts of the people you knew. your regrets are chained to you. you forage for love as though you are sifting through the cremated, madly but hushed. you plead for love with a scalding rage driven by who you are and who you could be.
nobody pursues love like those who have watched it burn away.
