Roses wish they were Candles

I know I can’t save everyone but can’t I at least save someone?
I’m sick of feeling for roses with my hands.
I panic when I see my chance and let it boil away.
I pretend like that what I always wanted.
Some nights it finds my bedroom with the intent of haunting me.
You just sit there and let it happen.
Part of me hopes you hate my songs, and part of me hopes you laugh at my face.
Part of me wishes I could think of something more convincing,
but most of me just wants to burn things down.