just keep on

pretending the high road doesn't look idyllic from the trench that, yes, i dug, but you yourself flung your being into with such force. it takes a force, alright, to divide what the same souls hated to let part (once).
i boil over and burn at the thought of letting cool a passion that burned red hot, knowing it ends in empty black and memories long stripped of any luster. i started the fire and i passed the torch to you, but on my chance at beating back the heat i tried my best to keep you free from that scalding disappointment. remorse is thankless, gratitude a rare happenstance now, and apologies will never suffice to heal what is ultimately self- inflicted.