because a burnt tongue can evoke the same kind of emotions
as watching your fears go up in smoke
its not a coincidence that fireworks sounds like kettles
and that you live for matchbooks and destruction
because you love burning fingers just as much as bridges
your mouth waters at the sweet smell of gunpowder
and craves the taste of chaos
hot liquid drenches your throat
and you cringe and you breathe
and you wait for the bang
and you wait for release
because it hurts in the most peaceful way you can imagine
you don't call yourself a *********
but you admire the way
you can find beauty in pain so easily
your skin is tinted red and angsty
from the snap of rubber bands against your skin
but you crave that sting like ******
lifting you higher into the atmosphere
until you crash among the cosmos
and fall into the earth like flaming debris
and you drink in the disaster
but never choke on the smoke
you admire the way rain falls like atom bombs
and the sun boils like nuclear warfare
you've got the world in your hands
and you're clutching it for dear life
trying to hold on to your sanity
but everything you touch crumbles
into ashes at your feet
I'm sorry
I'm so sorry that the only way for you to feel
is to burn your arms with lighters
and scratch away your skin
to scar your body until its hanging by its corners
and you look in the mirror and all you see is shame
but to me, its a canvas
because from destruction
comes creation
i won't let that very disaster that you indulge in
be your demise
i promise
if you want me to,
ill help you brew new blood
ill pick out herbs and leaves
and combine them with heat
so this cold world
will never leave you feeling heartless again
so even when you watch those fireworks
and watch your life go up in smoke
you'll have something waiting for you
to savor, to release
to drench your throat and bring you peace
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 10:34 PM UTC
because a burnt tongue can evoke the same kind of emotions
as watching your fears go up in smoke
its not a coincidence that fireworks sounds like kettles
and that you live for matchbooks and destruction
because you love burning fingers just as much as bridges
your mouth waters at the sweet smell of gunpowder
and craves the taste of chaos
hot liquid drenches your throat
and you cringe and you breathe
and you wait for the bang
and you wait for release
because it hurts in the most peaceful way you can imagine
you don't call yourself a *********
but you admire the way
you can find beauty in pain so easily
your skin is tinted red and angsty
from the snap of rubber bands against your skin
but you crave that sting like ******
lifting you higher into the atmosphere
until you crash among the cosmos
and fall into the earth like flaming debris
and you drink in the disaster
but never choke on the smoke
you admire the way rain falls like atom bombs
and the sun boils like nuclear warfare
you've got the world in your hands
and you're clutching it for dear life
trying to hold on to your sanity
but everything you touch crumbles
into ashes at your feet
I'm sorry
I'm so sorry that the only way for you to feel
is to burn your arms with lighters
and scratch away your skin
to scar your body until its hanging by its corners
and you look in the mirror and all you see is shame
but to me, its a canvas
because from destruction
comes creation
i won't let that very disaster that you indulge in
be your demise
i promise
if you want me to,
ill help you brew new blood
ill pick out herbs and leaves
and combine them with heat
so this cold world
will never leave you feeling heartless again
so even when you watch those fireworks
and watch your life go up in smoke
you'll have something waiting for you
to savor, to release
to drench your throat and bring you peace
