if you play with fire, you're going to get burnt. 
you are fire. you really are.
you're bright, and magical and warm and inviting.
you're everything that the brightest flame is.
and i'm the thick dumb hand that reaches in to stroke your beauty.
i'm the stupid fingers that want to be wrapped in your warmth.
i am the stupid arm that is getting singed.
yet for some reason i've left a trace of myself in you still,
i've left the tips of my fingers on the idea of your flame,
and it's getting hotter and the burn is getting worse.
i've been staring into your fire for too long,
and now when i look away all my eyes see are grey.
the grey area, you called it.
and i hate it and it makes me terrified, because i prefer things black and white.
i need an answer, and i don't care what it is.
the longer i keep my fingers in your fire the worse your damage will be.
i need to make my own decision,
to pull myself from you and run.
fucking run,
like i do so well.
if i don't, i'm going to get burnt.
burnt to a crisp,
i know it.