If I were a book, you would be the terrorizing fire burning all my pages out of spite.
because -your brutal flames negate the beauty of light.
If I were a book, you would be the flames feeding off of the words you don’t know
devouring everything that comes along that may challenge your inferno
because you have refused the brightness which was bestowed upon you
light that’s meant to allow people to see; you manipulated the embers that flew
you are your own pyre, in your damn empire; alone
you can burn my pages, but you’ll never burn my bones