It’s a MAD dash when you’re fleeing
through charring flames,
a haniss act as the flames boil over and spill,
rivers spewing from the windows
gaped open wide like screaming jaws.
Smoke bellowing,
chanted shrieks and harrowing screams
fanning flame with the flaccid breath of the young,
just hopelessly I’ll bring a new worldly suffering.
It’s but the glistening flicker of the bright blaze
and flamboyant gleam
scaving about my slithering grin.
My eyes smeared and polished,
a senseless joy embedded beneath them,
as house to building,
innocent to sinnly collapse bathed to ash.
It’s but MAD,
watching a maniac
watch a maniac
which just happens to be you.
Fleshly clothed,
spectating the world’s thrust
into the salivating mouth of the flames,
tis but a hospital or an orphanage,
a school to a home.
The memory of the twinge and tickle of
a match head flame spiders about the finger tips,
pawing at the urge.
One more blazing build couldn’t hurt.