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There is a fear and love which relates to it's dancing flame,
The slow clapping and snapping as it burns, whispers soft my name,
It's aura envelopes me lovingly, and carries me far away,
It's smell of burnt cedar, makes me long to stay.
But alas, when the flame is quenched, and the dreariness appears,
The purpose of my actions, understanding does not adhere.
Like a leach I suck out the life, trying to start a fire,
The love of the one with a yearning flame, I sadly can't acquire.
So if the flame for which I yearn, will not show its face,
The taste of dread and consternation will gladly take its place.
An emptiness creeps inside, I need something to fill,
Only one smell can replace the fire, the smell of the blood I spill.
