Smoldering

I bled for you but you would not have me. I bled the color red all over your palette of paints. I wanted your artist heart in my deepest ash pit. I wanted to mean as much to you as that tree you sketched on your crowded canvass. But you would not have me.

My passion flamed for you like a redwood on fire. A beacon for the planets is what I wanted to be for you. With my two feet planted in the earth, I wanted to stand tall in my heat and consume you.

I wanted to split you. I wanted to expose the pink timber of your insides and watch as your wood raged. I wanted you to see the yellow flickering in my mad eyes. But I was not firmly planted in the ground. I was flaring and hurting and misfiring.

I have never told anyone, but I have practiced black magic. I sprinkled the stars on the table in my favor. You can turn the universe whichever way you fancy but that also means twisting your fate like a screw backwards into the blind side of your life. I stopped when my hands and face became charred. One must learn this lesson, I suppose.

Another lesson I learned is that I never burn out, that I cannot be consumed. I may smolder blue for a while, but I will always return to torch. I will always bleed red hot for you.