The Arsonist

Your heart renders a black hole
Your mind, it renders, a storybook
Your hands render meaningless pleasure
Your words, they render, my lost potential

And I wonder how it got this far.

A shot of desperation ordered up
A cup of teenage hormones on the rocks
A glass of carelessness, or two, or three
I wave goodbye as my common sense slowly but surely leaves

It wasn’t supposed to begin like this.

Somehow I’m in the backseat of your car
Just glad to be out of the grass behind her house
And right now your kiss feels just right
Who cares what I’ll think tomorrow night.

It wasn’t supposed to end this way.