At the tip of your flame I surrender often but beyond the fireball of you nothing seems to be so uncontrollableNot sure I feed more air to you or you burn more air out of me It is easy for me to blame you of course since you could not possibly speak But you sometimes have the last laugh because I am the one taking the consequence of your push or my instinct Not sure whether you drive me to write more or I am simply writing more because lack of you The line are often blurred when I let you devout me or just ignore you altogether It must be another me of you shadowing my body and soul wake up when I am dreaming sleep when I want to fill the void What a naughty you or me
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