Fireworks and I have a lot in common
They burn out
And fizzle
And spark
And Scream
While people watch on with amusement
Without worry
The thing about fireworks and me?
They're pretty until you get too
Close
-I've burnt the fingers of too many people

I thought you were the fire that could warm my frozen heart
I took care of you
And tended to you
To keep you going as long as you could
I thought you would keep me warm
and take care of me too

Instead I ended up getting burnt
Charring my fingers on your carelessness
Singing my hair on your obliviousness
And In A Way, my own
Because anyone knows that when you play with fire
You're asking
to get burnt
-a former pyromaniac

I've been called a pyro
From the fires that glow in my path
But they don't know that the fire
Keeps my body from freezing over
And when the tendrils of smoke find their way to my nose
I hope it winds its way into my body
To warm the ice surrounding my heart
-depression can't win

I like being busy
There's no surprise in that,
It's the only way to survive and make the voices quiet that argue in my head.
I like being busy
It's the only way I've known,
To burry down those feelings
That keep on surfacing on their own.
I like being busy
I enjoy being burnt out
Because that's how I muffle the agony from the bleeding cut.
I don't want a moment of silence
Because that's when
The voices in my head are
The loudest.
They Mourne, they agonize, they miss,
They sympathize.
And then all I have is this burning feeling which is
The darkest.

Even the sun burns out

Manufactured moans
My stomach turns to stones
I cannot feel, how I used to is a flare
Each second after I am left
Left to something odd; my mind
My mind can’t place or displace
Everything evaporates
Not much is left to salvage
The rubble vibrates
Turning into winged creatures
They escape through my mouth
It’s over
Feeling
Fleeing