My mother told me that I am fire.
Like moths to a flame,
I will burn the boys I love.
She also warned me about
the boy who’ll taste like gasoline;
he’ll make me feel like I’m on top of the world
while he burns me in my own inferno.

But I swear,
I haven’t burned brighter since I kissed him.

He runs his hand through his hair.

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” He says. “When you love someone, you let them get away with murder.

"Even if it’s your own.”