Arsonist

To mention a spark in poetry is so cliche-
but we had a fire that could burn for days...
like gasoline fumes exploding with the spark of a match-
a heat so intense, too hot to get attached.
You're nothing but an arsonist who sees fire as his art-
you burned into my body, my soul, my heart.
A roaring fire was begun, you started the flame-
it was all too real to me- but to you, just a game...
you love starting the fire, yet refuse to put it out-
letting me burn into ashes, a blazing forest in a drought.
You leave no sign of foul play- you're a master at your art...
no traces you were ever here other than my scorched heart.
I'll no longer play with fire, I'm so tired of getting burned.
My soul has been left in ashes- my lesson has been learned.

What You Said

You said there was "just something" about me
your friends said the same thing, too...
you said there was something in the way I walked,
something about the way I looked at you.

You said that things were almost over-
you said you were done with her...
you said you had never played around-
because of that "something", I was the first.

You said you two lived towns apart,
you said things with her would be over soon.
You said you didn't get to see her much...
all of those words were spoken in June.

You said that you felt horrible,
you said you had never been the cheating kind.
You said you knew that you were wrong-
convinced me that you really were a decent guy.

You said that you really loved her,
you said you weren't sure why you turned to me.
You said you enjoyed our time together...
"great conversation and good company".
 
You said you could make me fall in love with you,
you said doing that would be easy.
You said things that made me laugh, made me think-
and everything you said I believed.

You said things were finally over between you,
you said things that got into my head.
I should have listened to my gut and my heart-
and not to the bullshit YOU said.