I fell in love with fire at the
ripe age of seventeen years old.
I dared to flick on that lighter and
watch the sparks fly, intrigued by
how fiery the air felt.

Fancies turn to habits
Habits turn to addictions
Addictions turn to years
Years cut through naivety and
solidify into adulthood.

I flailed, I flopped,
I even stopped, dropped, and rolled
in filth, in mud, in murky waters
that rippled into a crystal ball of
an unfortunate future, indeed.

No prescription or over-the-counter reception
could soothe the burning you created.
I never realized how flammable my mind,
my heart, or my in-between places were…

As my soul smoldered
my throat choked on the smoke.
I asked for it to stop but all you heard was
“Keep going…”

You prodded, you poked, you stoked
the flames that licked from the freckle
on my foot to the freckle on my ear.
You poured out
the gasoline of selfless love and
smiled at your victory.
You crept into my life
You caught glimpses of the parts
of me hidden in secret places
You conquered my reason

Worst of all I was folded
in the hollow of your hand,
Beating around a bush
with a dead Trojan horse.

I didn’t see it coming, but I should have
known—I trusted you with my crowning jewel…
I let my guard down. Hell, I even
sharpened the knife you used to carve out my spine.
You entered my safe haven
in disguise, leaving  
a trail of matches behind and
scorching everything on your way out.

******, more so than yellow snow.
Angry, more than a striking cobra.
I’ll be a good friend and warn you:
I’m not your *****, so don’t test me.

People are like play-doh to me;
this is why I can never grow up.
Try as you might, but your actions will never be your own.
They belong to me.

Manipulative? Yes, of course.
Ashamed? Certainly not yet.
I’m a danger to others when I’m alone.

Scaling a mountain with my own bare hands,
I’m tougher than nails:
Break me and I’ll harden again.
Chip me and I’ll re-grow.
Let me grow out and I’ll **** somebody up.

Sometimes I think I should be surrounded by four white walls.
I hate white walls—plain, empty, like that love you covered me with—
So I’ll cover them with scrapbook paper.
Band-aids are more fun to play with than antiseptic.

Y’know, when your thoughts are as dark as mine –
The night isn’t as scary
nor the monsters so creepy.

You become the scary night
and the monsters children fear.
You’re the ugly, crooked criminal
held back from all that you hold dear.
The night, to you, becomes bright
and all the nocturnal fright
will be your cause
and your plight.

The best morning ever turned upside down to the least thing to remember
The bowl’s been worn down to a plate
Drunk on love or sober on hate
Missing the person who hurt her most
Why does she go about her day
She wings her lines
In a playwright
Of her life
Too bad it’s not written for her
That’d be easier, huh
If our lives were connect the dots
We’re fortunate enough to draw our own stars
Paint our own pictures
Roll our own clay
But how much easier it’d be to live someone else’s life
But she looks into his eyes
And there it is- the emptiness grasps her
He looks at her face
Misses the passion in her eyes
She held a knife to his throat
He didn’t give a ****
So she gave up
But couldn’t forget
The flowers he gave or the heart he took