I wanted to write
As if I would never be judged
But then I would never do it
My feelings never making it through it.

You left me numb
Deathless pain is all I've got
And it doesn't speak
It just feels like a cheap trick.

I thought I had you forever
But when I saw that you could never
Be that person, it lit in me an arson
What a betrayal
He expects me to be loyal.

And even then,
So I was
But he left me no chance
Not a breather
Now I'm a hardly
A believer.

swallow me up in the flames of the fire
betrayal’s cold, but it feels so warm
around the embers
valley submersion
no ask for coercion
i stared at the midnight sky hoping it would burn bright
and ache my bones
to rid of this contempt
to rid of this distaste in my mouth
from your cruel intentions

the devil’s in the silence
in the rush of an arsonist
the devil has a surefire way
of making it gray
of bringing the ire

the bitter lick of the wind
a butterfly flees from the milkweed
a woman is crying,
a man’s bad at deciding
upon that hilltop, as it slowly burns
he turns in his grave
stupid mistake
to singe the small oak trees i grew from my labor
i’ll do you a favor whether you’re a skeleton or a ghost
no one knows

back then we were fighters
hands held instead of lighters
gleaming eyes and joking goodbyes
the house by the water
the transient sorrow
waltzed like a ghost under my bed
calm and collected
now brazenly fearless
relentless ruin in ash crumbling kingdoms in my hand
you left me dead
in the garden
a mysterious labyrinth
blood rushed in faces
scalding heat in the churchyard
i burnt every remnant of you
in hopes of forgetting you

it’s in the burnt wood left behind
the trace of evidence in my mind
the spirit of you lingers

never meant to break you like you broke me
with eyes full of hatred, ferocious fire
i believed in the magic we had
the lasting fever of love
embedded into our veins
you must not have gotten the memo
to be doves above the flood
i can’t blame you for an escape plan
racked of pain  
you were treachery in disguise

masked as a partner, now a liar
with the blame carried on my shoulders  
a dormant volcano made active
with the intent of annihilation
flattening lands with lush beauty
hope has four letters, but it’s impossible to believe in
always on the tip of my tongue
i have pushed beyond repair
almost clinging to the idea of you
still alive, real and believable
why do i fail at keeping—the things that matter most to me?
almost like i’m on the slow road to redemption
but my resurrection continuously forsakes me

it feels like freedom, almost cathartic
there’s fire in me
a phoenix, a bird of rebirth sits deep in my stomach
waiting to fly away

light me on fire
set me ablaze
i let you fan me till i grow big
and swallow forests whole
nobody blames the arsonist
just the fire.

The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames.
Arsonists hold their gassers to my face.
In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable
vapor, born to flit away.
Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes:
these gates hold little significance to them.

(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)

Prior to this, they had presented themselves
as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know,
I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear,
I know it's a game!

Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed
their razor blade. They whizz their wings.
Here they come, coming for me.

Here I go again: counting sheep,
blinking for one whole eternity.

Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe.
Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad.
I shall never recuperate.

Mollify my entirety.
Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.

a dance, a waltz
captivatingly intense
like a dice being thrown
and the adrenaline of expense

what's more enthralling
to the onlooker's eye
than the blood red streamers
shooting up to the sky?

and what's on the mind
of a mad, callused arsonist's
other than the pleasure
of an embrace of a goddess?

my friend, its the chaos
and the rush of the game
its the sting of her arms
wrapping round once again

i had always romanticized thought of homocide. but in which way would i  have done it? i couldn’t be caught. that wouldn’t be the perfect ******. I’ve lived with four, but after my mother had locked eyes with me, and picked up the shovel, there were only three. id pondered many ways, the easiest to dispatch of was two. all except of me. i could’ve speared the rest, you’d never be too vigilante. pulling the trigger was an option, but they’d find the bullet. arson, a creative solution. i waited ‘til sundown. gasoline, every inch of the house. i entered my mother’s room, taking two lighters, and a matchbox. i lit three flames on the match, and threw at the house along with the lighters. i left. without taking any belongings. i moved far far away. finally, ive committed the perfect ******.

"i am so lame" i whisper to myself
after putting your flannel in the dryer
so that it would be as warm as it was when you gave it to me
fresh off your skin

your scent is waning, but i can still catch it
i wish i could hold it in my palms
because god knows it's my favourite smell in the world

i wear it until it get's cold again
but by then i'm already asleep

dreaming of you as i pretend you're holding me

my tongue isn’t
long enough
to reach all the places down your throat
it wants to touch

i’ll have to kiss your ribs
some other way