I'm no arsonist and I am no firefighter but somewhere in a deep hole in my heart you have left a hole and filled it with oil, just so you can come back when you want.
The worst thing is, knowing what it does to me and the agony and the pointless fulfillment of the pain, I still set you on fire every time I get; it's an instinct somewhere inside me that forces me to strike the match. It's like I'm hungry for feeling that wonderful malevolent force flow back and forth between us.
Turns out I'm always going to love you. I'm always going to be nursing these flames whether they're keeping my hands and feet warm or scorching my sorry skin.
I am always going to love you because I don't know if there is anything else I know to do about it.