LIKE FLAMES

Like flames I see them burning ever so brightly, their colours of orange and red covering me in waves of heat.
Soon I will be reduced to carbon and smoke after being burned alive. I could ask for nothing more, such a beautiful death that we all fear but there’s nothing to fear.
It’s like a B-17 going down over Berlin, it has to come to earth someplace – what a stunning sight to see when it does, all those people burned alive, in pain.
Today I’ll settle for a 747 in her death dive, full of screaming passengers who will be roasted alive in the beauty of fire.

Your arctic blue eyes
Light my heart on fire
Your cold flames of ice
Burn me
Yet I only feel a slight chill
As my heart erupts into electric blue flames

Your frost-bound lips brush against mine
And my frostbitten heart
Melts
But freezes again as they leave
And forms a shell as hard as stone
And as cold as ice

Yet you leave me
Cold and unprotected
The turquoise embers still smoldering
Maybe I should fight ice with ice
But your hypnotizing gaze
Pierces into my soul and ignites it once more

The world bows to my will and power
But do you?
I am invincible from everything
But from your soul of ice
Your cold flames
And your arctic blue eyes

I'm realizing a silence between us,
terrible and infinite
My lips practically beg for death,
anything at all, to escape the
fiery inferno that is you
You don't care as you scorch me,
you barely notice;
i can't seem to let go either
I'm obsessed with getting burnt
I crave the feeling.

I'm burning,
But that doesn't matter.
Because we're burning together.

my net worth is three sheets
of crumpled paper and
an empty shot glass.
i am not pretending to be
anything refined, sophisticated,
worth your time.  

i’ve ruined the best things in my life
without even realizing it, absence the
only clue; there was no bother to tell me.
i am left with flaws but i am not sure
what they are because I’m too
much of a liability to be told.

there are empty matchboxes strewn
all upon my cluttered mattress
with holes burnt into it.
i have a tin lunch box full of
dead lighters; six years worth.
i never throw them away.
my bad habits exist in
every flameless flick.

will you increase my net worth
by leaving a pack of Marlboros in
my mailbox? i might not be deserving
of an explanation, but it would be
a nice peace offering. if you add
a lighter to the mix, i’ll make sure
the amethyst fades and you
no longer dream of me.

have you ever wondered
if it was possible
to set fire on fire?

well, if you're thinking it's impossible
cheat on someone with anxiety
and stand back from the flames.

They said he made light and angels
They said he made some magic garden
So why do some angels live in hell?
They have clay skin and healing hands...

And no-one thanks them

But they keep helping
They receive no reward
Except pain
The pain feels like they stand in flames

And even in the smoke
He sits on his throne
No thank you, not pat on the back
Until the angels wither
And become black ash on the ground