I'm six feet underground, disoriented.
did I dig the grave, or was I meant for it?
the soil clumps together, stronger than ever
as it presses my chest, never to sever.
as I claw my way up, branches stab like pins.
before long, the deep cuts sear my exposed skin.

my eyes tire, and I rest.
but my rest fails the test.

the soil weighs me down further,
bringing me where demons murmur.
and that is where I now stand,
trapped in a layer of land.
and since making a move burns,
staying gives me what I deserve.

The shower floor
is both blistering
and icy. The water
that has pooled
under my thighs
is colder
than the heat
pounding through
the flesh of my back,
right to my spine.

I like existing
between things.
I like loving so hard
that it hurts,
and hating so violently
that I burn
like the shower-fire.

I do not know
how to do things
in anything other
than extremes.
I’m searching for
an ending
in the middle
of a battlefield,
ripping red raw
welts on my hands.

There’s a reason
behind all of this,
but if I ever find it out,
I am sure that I will die
on impact. Like a rocket
falling from the Heavens.
Like we made Man
into God, and were cast
down in Challenger fire.

It is not fire
that burns
          the most.

   It is not anger
of an untold
          story's ghost.

It is the
          poison
and the
          pain
             which it
                    brought.

Yet without
              it,
  our tiny stories
mean
       absolutely
    naught.

do not burn the cloak
with me it is beyond the
ken of fay wisdom

*** it's one step forward, and three steps back
don't even have enough energy to light a candle
but i would like to watch a couple things burn

The stars are fake,
they are shining upon the sky
And burning everything that touches their beam.

They desire a sand
and you are the hourglass.

Burn of passion!
Withering flame!
Take my heart,
And set it aflame!
Let my lust be seen and reign again!