The Art of Miscommunication

I sort of realized on my own that what I'm trying to describe makes perfect sense to ME because I see it clearly, I know what I'm talking about. But the description to others is lost. Oh well! Give me your best shot. I'll fix this as needed.

This uneven pulse dances inside my chest:
A skipping stone, only it's on fire.
It sparkles, and glows brilliantly.
Flames ablaze, darting across the water
Before fading into oblivion with a crackle and a hiss.

Shooting glances, stars and highways.
Endangering the thoughtfulness of my isolated mind.
I thank you for your awful silence.
I won't say a word, not a single sentance.
I sit here feeling rejected, “passive”.
Something I realize:
it's never perfect; if it's perfect it's not worth it.

Author's Note

I don't follow rhyming schemes for some reason. Sorry.