Let your rose-hued nostalgia
fuel your self-pity.
Pour it, you poor thing,
on to that dried up clinging
and watch the taunting flames dance
all over the grave of your thoughts,
letting the smoke devour your sight
of what actually matters.
Let the stinging burn destroy your smile,
which it had once complimented so lovingly.
Let the choking smoke cloud your memories,
which has once seemed so certain and full of hope.
Let the smoke alarm shriek like a banshee,
and drown out all of those songs you once loved.
Let the destruction create a barrier at your doors,
and keep out all of those who could help you out.