Wild, Not Wild

My hair is a jungle on fire.
A flaming curtain of such boldness I wish wasn't expected over such a dull as razors  soul.
I know the flames have died long ago.
Broken porcelain ego.
In every word I give up, in every poem I die.
I miss the beginning of my earths evolution, a child as wild as the sun. A damp dark world has put out all of my fun.