Fire Sign

I've always loved fire.

Bright and smoldering,

able to light up everything that surrounds it.

It must be a blessing to make people feel warm,

but the curse lies within burning people

if they get too close.

But when the fire spreads,

it becomes vicious.

It starts small,

and then it grows and grows

until you can't contain it anymore,

ending in an explosion of flames.

It destroys everything around it,

all that remains are memories

of the things that used to be there

and the people that used to live there.

It can't help but tear good things to the ground.

I have a bad habit of letting the fire consume me.

When it's all over,

when I finally burn out,

I lay in the ashes and wait to be lit up again.

I remember being misplaced.

I met a man,

who was too wrong for me,

and who burned all of my bridges

to the ground.

He would always leave me

for however long he wanted,

and I didn't know where he was going,

or if he was coming back.

But then he would come back,

wanting to take more from me.

I think I was addicted.

Maybe to the feeling of being needed.

I was intoxicated

with the risk that he brought.

No matter how far I tried to run,

he always found me in the end.

There was a time when my nights

were filled with drinks and strangers

as we bounced from one place to the next.

Sometimes I was searching for a ride,

sometimes I was searching for a high.

I was always looking for someone

to see what was behind my eyes,

because when I looked in the mirror,

emptiness stared back at me through a hollow face.

It dared me to leave him.

It dared me to take control.

But I let the fire burn me to the ground

again, and again, and again.