I am made of fireworks,

and electricity,

and chemical reactions.

I radiate warmth

as strong as

a heatwave in the desert.

I taste like pop-rocks

fizzing on your tongue,

snapping and cracking

like branches breaking in the woods.

I am the peaks 

on a heart monitor

and the peaks of the Rocky Mountains.

I crash down like waves,

and thunder,

rolling, tumbling,

like a bowling ball out of its lane.

I'm a whirlwind of

everything I want to be. 

A blend of excitement

and fire.

When I ran into you,

I erupted.

It was like everything was

multiplied by 4. 

My chemical reactions

turned into atomic bombs.

My pop-rocks turned to sparks

bouncing off the walls of your mouth.

My peaks went off the monitor 

and created an avalance

in the wild.

My waves

turned into a tsunami.

And while I kept going,

I forgot to ask

if you were enoying the ride.

Because you were so small

and so fragile.

My waves drowned you

and you put my flames out.

I was left with nothing except

a collection of shattered lightbulbs

and a forest full of seared trees.

I'm sorry my love.

I didn't understand

that everything I'm made of

could, 

and did

 

destroy you.