Burning Man

I greatly appreciate how you can entice that part of me, the part that burns (It could just be the heat from the house burning to the ground).
My eyes narrow and I know you feel the fire licking at your heels as you flee to escape the wreck we’ve created. The ash clouds your vision and I excitedly squeal as your breathing hitches. You cough, you sweat, you run, you fight to leave the blazing that keeps its tempo. I jump up and down like the fangirl I am. The biggest sadistic smile pasted to my mouth.
Your air is murkier, your oxygen escaping your lungs. My chest starts to burn and I realise I really don’t care. You can’t replace what you’ve never had. The heat kills it all, like I’m killing you for killing me.
I’m tipsy and each time this bottle spills the fire sparks anew. Am I digging my own grave or just fuelling your own fire?
I really should stop believing everything you say. For strong I shall be, no matter how timid I feel.
I’m numb again. The fire has burned out… all emotion, all sensation, all of me.