Nothing

The fire doesn't burn, they keep telling me,

I want it gone, but they want it close.

I have fought to keep it going,

but I've ran out of wood a long time ago.

I can't help to question myself,

what is it that I've given the fire to keep it from vanishing into thin air?

I have nothing, I'm not worth the warmth,

I want to be cold, I deserve nothing more.

They don't understand it doesn't keep me comfortable because it burns.

I am waiting, waiting for the end,

I have longed to see the ashes that once were something that helped me live.

Run, I have to run, they are holding me back,

they seem to think I fear to be alone,

my fear has been the thought of thinking I have what fuels the fire when we are lost.