Watch the silent fire,
Watch me scorch my battered heart,
Ashes cannot burn.

last night i wept
because i didn't know how i felt
last year i was cutting
every single day
slice
after slice
last today i was praised
because i can hold it all in
and i dont hurt myself
with the razor
as often as i did
last week i found a lighter
and held it to my skin
i don't remember for how long
but the burn is still there
and even though the euphoria subsided
the stench
of burnt flesh
is still fresh
in my memory

Every ounce of me burns
Like ash i feel ***** and grey
My head is filled with the ash of my happiness
I cant see though this fog of pain
Will it ever end?

The first drag I ever took of a cigarette left the taste of ash in my mouth
And a burning in my throat all the way to my lungs
Until I coughed so much I felt sick
That's how I feel being in the same room breathing the same air as you

A Warning

A delicate dance of red and blue,
A spark, a flicker, a flame,
The heated lick of a yellow hue,
This blaze no man can tame.

As tempting as the warmth may be,
And welcoming its light,
One should be cautious if he should see
A burning flicker of white.

Though we can never deny the beauty
Of this symbol of desire,
It still remains my fervent duty
To warn you of this thing called fire.

her very nature burned alive,
taking everything around her with it.

and when she shined the brightest,
the whole world was set on fire.

I hate what I'm writing
what if my brain is ******* me over
what if finally it's learnt from the others and packed it'd bags on me
what if my brain joins with the forces much greater than us
that I talk about
and together they plot their treason.
My thoughts are loaded gunpowder and my body
comprised of brick and cement
is the parliament building.
Maybe this poem is me
catching the rebels redhanded.
Maybe it's too late.
What if this is it,
the demise of my inner government,
the seats given to the opposition,
the monarchy going up in flames
(it certainly feels like burning)
I beg,
have me hung drawn and quartered
and feed my limbs to the birds.
And then,
from deep within the innards of a birds *****,
my last request is to
at the very least
make my severed head look pretty

Life used to flow freely,
it used to be full to the brim.
It slept peacefully flowing through my veins.

But now it is awake,
and a fuming fire is born between us.
By the glance of an eye,
and the touch of lips.