The Wrong Kind Of Fire Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

If you want to trade with words and clicks.
Go play with some match sticks, and write down every sound you hear.
Let it not be filled with lies.
I'm not interested in a credit given its due.
For promises of those words so versed sounds quite rehearsed.
I won't be the one to make you famous.
This is not a popularity contest.
You must have mistaken me for somebody else.
I'm the angel of death.
Not a success to write about.
So cynical and I can't help it.
This is my book of misery.
If you don't like it.
Please stay out of it.
Please don't ask to be invited by some fabricated kindness.
I have no time for it.
For my life is continuing to fall into so many pieces.
And you most certainly can't help from that kind distance.
Nor do I want you too.
It is never a thought for profit.
For me it's only ever a expression of art straight from the heart.
Once you realize this, then I might just tell you what I truly like.
And if you feel you must you can do the very same.
To do it any other way is just playing games.
And I don't play with fire.
I build it from scratch.
From the neck to the head attached.
Out my eyes, through my ever moving fingers.
Sorry but I know your number.
For your not the first one of those kind of singers.
Sing a song of a different tune.
Paint a portrait not of eye candy, but of substance.
Just give me the good stuff because I'm always hungry for more.
There is no score board.
That was all in your head.
Stop believing what they all said.
Write with passion not as if its a have to everyday.
Like a life sentence of the most monotonous torture.
Please don't be another one of those vultures.