Dear anger,
my blood boils
my heart screams
as you make my rage active
and pain passive.

Dear anger,
you put me in danger
for you make me a stranger.
You need to get a grip,
because you make me flip.

Dear anger,
you make everything look so flammable.
Luring me to set my problems on fire.

Pain, insecurities and fears,
I burn it as fuel
to rage you.

I want to believe
that I am still sweet inside,
eventhough I am sad and tired.

But you make me believe
I am someone who inflicts pain,
is cold hearted and fake -
for she is unknown to me.

You took a match to the expectations
I had for falling in love
And walked through my door
On fire

west london fire stories
stories i can't finish
you are in this story

what's the problem called
when the sun is coming up
and you've been awake all night because
ugly sleep sleeps all day,
and the groom's ******* are
too large for his beard

someone said no to reality
someone put the greed in poverty
but what can i say, what can i say
forgot who i was long ago
don't like who i am today

my back was turned
when the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell
while the london fire burned

cheap, chinese, and rainproof
that's how
the rainproof cladding of grenfell tower fell

Acetone

The places where you
lit fires just for me
begin to dismantle themselves
as soon as your absence is felt;
Your hands were the stitches
that held them together.

Vulnerability inevitable,
yet somehow it feels
safe with you,
close enough to fire,
close enough to be highly
flammable when
exposed to air (love),
close enough to reveal
parts of me I'd always conceal.

This love is
violent and gentle,
somedays, an arrow to my heart,
others, unbearable to pull apart
and I guess though
that's what love means;
taking the euphoria with
the smoke,
staying through merciless
days of bloodshed,
just to keep a throbbing beat alive
and kicking to the gut,
adding salt to a bleeding cut;
I could bleed myself dry for you.

I'm good.

I’m in a good place.
Friends the next room over,
a few streets down.
Living a life with
those I love all around.

Listening to their grace,
imagining you in this space.
I could almost burn.

I know you didn’t choose your face,
though it makes this a difficult race.
Your kisses I can’t unlearn.

Bring the flood.
The hours, days, months, years,
the unquantifiable tears.
Squeezing in self-discourse when I can,
logic and hope crammed between fears.

Another dud.
A grand plan disguised
as a firecracker, prized,
one promising an explosion,
lightning bolts etched on the sides.

Though there was never a detonation.
You cut the fuse short
or maybe I never lit it.
Maybe I’m like Rogue,
absorbed that firework’s nature
and can’t quit it

My veins are gunpowder.
My heart the wick.
Thoughts of you the flame
and I’m praying they don’t stick.

My mind is racing with water
in an old fashioned wood bucket,
assembly line style carrying reason.
Though my worst fears I can hardly stomach.

I’m working my synapses as fast as they’ll churn,
but like every western movie ever filmed

the water gets here too late.

I stand watching myself burn.