When love is left alone in the dark it dies slowly like a fire with out air. It is a dwindling flame that i wish would simply sputter out. However, I don't seem to be able to choke out the flame. My breath keeps whispering air into the flame, keeping things burning. Even if the embers are only warm to my touch. They've grown cold to everyone else while I still hold on hoping for a spark.
Stopping myself from getting a roaring fire
Stopping myself from getting a roaring fire
Of such behavior I am beginning to tire
As my patience for myself wains
Frustration is often something that i claim
My internal conflicts always reign
Shame, Shame, Shame runs the constant refrain.
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