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lua Oct 2022
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.
Sammi Yamashiro Apr 2021
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.
blake Mar 2021
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
fire's cool
Trojan Mar 2021
Gathering Gifts
For a Goner's grave
For his parting breath
For his one and only death

Throw them in the pit
Where he is
Where he took his life
Where he jumped right in

And Letters

Everything he owned
Everything he cherished
In that hell hole it shall go
In that fiery pit

"Fire? But it's just dirt in there."
Yes, it is just filth and grime
But not until we commit a crime
Strike a match and make this grave

March, 2021
grey Jan 2021
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 ******.
basil Jan 2021
"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
dude, ****. i'm such a wreck lmaooofslakdfj
idiosyncrasy Dec 2020
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
idfk. happy two year anniversary, love
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