Objectification of inspiration

I thought you were my fire,
and burn my life you did.

Whence I rose from ashes,
indebted I felt.

You were a firework display,
to warm my heart.
A sunset and dawn of my day,
to turn me around.
The spark that electrified
the mundane.

Even in a new age, I look
upon your face for answers.

I sought a goddess,
pedestal included.
I sought a savior,
death excluded.
I sought an inspiration,
an object to pray to.
You were my false idol,
no more a person.

Wrought in the depths of hell,
anointed by heaven.
Molded from mud into person,
a godly creation.

My firework, my spark and fire,
An object without life,
gone is the day,
welcome the night.

One day perhaps we will talk,
and I'll ask about you,
to learn who you are.
Rather than fetishize a fantasy
and rip humanity from you.

"She gives life," I've heard
but I know that, "I took her life" is more correct.