At the tip of your flame
I surrender often
but beyond the fireball of you
nothing seems to be so uncontrollable
Not sure I feed more air to you
or you burn more air out of me
It is easy for me to blame you of course
since you could not possibly speak
But you sometimes have the last laugh
because I am the one taking the consequence
of your push or my instinct
Not sure whether you drive me to write more
or I am simply writing more because lack of you
The line are often blurred
when I let you devout me
or just ignore you altogether
It must be another me of you
shadowing my body and soul
wake up when I am dreaming
sleep when I want to fill the void
What a naughty you
or me
