There are two types of people, you once told me.
Those who can move galaxies with their bare hands,
And those who can paint pictures with their words.
And I always thought you could do both at once.
Your words stoked the flames that burned inside me,
As you whispered them in my ears like a prayer.
That spoke of a million different desires all at once.
They've been imprinted on my soul to last forever.
Your hands ghosted my skin like tracing a map,
A route you've committed to memory from practice,
Soft and flowing, like the smoke clouds you exhale.
I can still taste the ash on my tongue from yours.
There are two types of people you once told me.
Those who feed the embers and those who burn.
Your smiles turned darker but I loved you the same.
I didn't lie when I said I'd walk through fire for you.
But your words started to burn me inside out.
They knew just the right parts to do away with,
The exact things to never let me be the same.
You'll regret burning the heart out my chest.
There are two types of people I finally understood.
Those who leave the and those who get left behind.
And I can't help but feel like I'm a bit of them both
Because although I left you, I could never find me.
Maybe my pieces are somewhere in the ashes of us,
Drifting through the wind in a violent sandstorm.
And maybe some day I can look at the sunset
And not feel the familiar scalding you brought.