Set fire to the rain. I am numb so I appreciate pain

I still hold a candle lit vigil. I still hold a candle that was lit on the last spark of our love. A love that possessed the power and beauty and byproducts of a forest fire that consumed the entire earth. I am burning alive. This love has cleared much brush from my life and made way for recovery but I keep the menacing flame in my hands. I grasp it tightly and cling to the very thing that had left me burnt, ruined, destroyed. On the flip-side of this coin I am left with room for rehabilitation and new growth. But I keep this candle lit, in the center of a wasteland of charred brush and scorched life, praying for a phoenix to burn me once again. I want something to consume me once again. I am numb. I am cold. I want to feel a fire again. I want to enjoy the sensation that comes as one chars. I want to scorch and blaze and be a contributor to that glorious dangerous fire. That fire that consumes all. That fire that destroys. I want to lose myself in the flame. This flame that I wish this spark that I hold would give way to. I am holding on to this candle. A part of a vigil of the fiery love we once made. I mourn the flame amid the graves of everything that has been lost, in the very presence of all life to be created I wish for nothing more than to be destroyed and merely become the brush of what my heart holds as a ferocious flame. I will be the phoenix, I will be brush, I will be arsonist as long as I can once again-even if momentarily, feel the blaze of this love affair. I want to be soothed by it.