my beautiful arson.

[eatyummyglue]

In the smokey wake of a warmth so comfortable and sure
she's realized her heart is just that and nothing more
a muscle made of tissue, pumping blood to all extemities
meant only to keep her alive, not a source of much dependency

her form, her frame resembles a stage for the show
her eyes playback everything he pretends he doesn't know
the curtain too heavy for her to hold back
to shelter the audience from everything she lacks

the thoughts she had have since been strained and converted
into something he can readily digest, a bit more introverted
her blood has now boiled down to oil, only left to be inflamed
burned to ash by arson, no edvidence of blame.