playing with fire 

i find you in warm places. i find you on the tip of my tongue after a sip of morning coffee. i find you at the bottom of the bottle at the end of that same night. i find you in the flame of my favorite candle and in the smoke that floats from my mouth and into the air. i find you in things that only poison me. you float in the clouds above me and i let you. you’re always so down and so grey but stop taunting me, wouldn’t you? if you’re gonna pour, do it now while you have the chance or don’t do it at all. you’re like a drip of rain in the middle of a long, hot drought. you’ve always been such a tease, haven’t you? (and not just in a good way.) because your glass used to overflow. you used to flood lakes and rivers and i always thought one day your love would have me lost at sea but look at this mess you’ve made of me. it’s scorching. i feel the burn in the back of my throat as i bring the bottle of my lips. your touch was always too hot for me. burn-my-fingertips kind of hot. i didn’t used to mind blistering my hands for you. but this water has never tasted so sweet. and i no longer sweat in the heat of you. i don’t long for the summer to come. not now. and not ever again. (don’t play with fire because you are bound to get burned. and you always will. you always have.)

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