lately life feels like an invisible fire,
doused in methanol,
hot on my heels.

so, Vigiles, lay into me a firebreak,
right down my spine,
quench the fiery blood.

make me a dormant hearth full of cinder,
promise me to colder nights.

just don't forget to bring a match,
bring the spark to my thatch.

What am I but a soul,
Imprisoned by a shell of flesh,
With organs feasting on my fluids,
Operated solely by a wrinkled beast
At the top of the meat tower.

Have I a choice? Or am I bound
To this wrinkled beast’s desire,
Praying for the day that
The light will come calling
And the beast will die.

there’s enough anger in one man
to put even the Gods to shame;
it speaks to him in
mournful moments, when -
the shadow of doubt clouds  
his acumen, and his candour
reigns far too long.

he sleeps with it;
dreams of it;
and once it has
invaded his subconscious,
he revels in it --
it makes him feel powerful,
and hungry for a scam
that disguises itself as a reward.

belittled by his own words,
he seeks refuge in others
who share his wrath -
for they are everywhere:
they help him carve his words
into a dagger of insecurity,
with which he stabs those
who tried to offer him
an antonym for violence;

the blood he draws shall
dye his conscience -
evil red.

short and sharp
is the pain from the hit.
i am 9, my mother is angry.
in the dark, something grows
a few years pass
and a clone of her has grown
i can copy her movements
speak in synchrony
but she never gets hurt when i do

Weeks spent battling inside,
Fumbling with words,
Looking for the right tone,
So you knew that you hurt
My soul, and the soul
Doesn’t recover so easily.

We sat down on the loveseat,
Pressed into the armrests,
And I found the right time
To speak my truth.
You listened with ears
On edge, ready to argue,
Never conceding an inch
So you could win.
And you won
Because you know
I won’t fight.

You walked away
with shoulders held high,
And a crooked smile on your face,
While I’m left alone to
Bottle everything up,
So it never comes out again.

A spark ignites, so small, so sly,
Born of a glance, a word gone awry.
It leaps to life, a sudden flame,
Feeding on fury, stoked by blame.

A roaring blaze, fierce and wild,
A tempest untamed, untender, unstyled.
It sears through thought, it burns through care,
Consuming reason in its glare.

For a moment, the world is ablaze,
Each breath, each pulse, a molten haze.
Tongues of wrath lick at the soul,
Devouring warmth, devouring whole.

And then—it fades, a cruel retreat,
Leaving silence sharp and bittersweet.
The ashes settle, the embers die,
Cold winds rush where heat did lie.

Empty now, a hollowed shell,
No comfort left, no tale to tell.
Anger spent, it leaves behind
A frigid void, an aching mind.

Oh, fleeting fire, so quick to start,
You scorch the soul, you break the heart.
Yet in your wake, a truth is told:
A flash of fury leaves only cold.