Made Of Gasoline

Sometimes I wish you could break me.
That you could take me apart and smash me into pieces.
I long to be devastated, like I once was.
Sometimes I wish you could hurt me.
That you could make me bleed, like I once did,
But you can't. You're a sculptor.
You have not the skill, of a butcher.
Sometimes all I hope for, is a little bit of sorrow.
A little bit of pain, to get by the day.
And then I realize, a little bit is not enough.
Not nearly good enough.
No, you do not understand....
It is not that my breath is no longer heavy.
But that I can still live, and I no longer have to breathe.
I am not fond of sorrow. I do not crave it.
But I will take it over a vacant smile.
My trouble is, I have known happiness.
I have known living.
And now, nothing less will do.
And yet, this is not it.
Don't get me wrong. It is not your fault.
You are wonderful the way you are.
And I, am just not worth it.
It is nothing you did or could.
It is what you couldn't.
You see, I was never a girl who could make do with a spark or a fire.
I was made of gasoline.
And nothing but a conflagration would appease me.