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Deepali Apr 2019
And the lighter told me,
told me, coming closer to my ears,
whispering in a shrouded manner,
take me to my friend,
and clinch me to its under.

And when i raised my hands up,
crossing it through my fingers,
bringing the lighter close to his friend,
my hands shivering to their intruder....;

hearing my breath,
my eyelids falls in deep,
shutting it up not staring the fire lead,
as it ate up my own smell,
trespassing his friends redolence,
"INTRUDER" they are to me.

I melt,
my flesh falls away,
but anyways  I'am the only perfect way,
to light up their friendship
and light up my scars,
to give them the ignition,
and i fell in them more and faaarrr.....

Far from the people,
who managed to keep me away from realm,
but i have this pair
to fill me with phlegm.
So my friend once told me iam not able to leave smoking cigarettes, but i said to him its oohkay, ignite the beautiful friendship.
Colten Sorrells Jan 2019
when
it
comes
to
lighting smokes,
I gotta dig Bic
bet you read that last line wrong
Emily Lawson Sep 2018
It is 12:43 in the morning.

I am envisioning lighting my face on fire.

Eyelashes drenched in kerosene, dripping down my chin, soaking my hair

Blink. Blink. Light.

I feel the scrape of the lighter under the pad of my thumb before my hair catches fire

face engulfed in flame, turned to blistered flesh in seconds.

People use the term “faceless” to describe someone they do not know the identity of.

For that reason, my appearance finally matches my lack of identity.

No pun intended.
PoserPersona May 2018

Dear Journal,

     The wheel turns on the black Bic lighter and conjures a restless spark,
thus igniting once sincere letters. In turn, arctic winds are evoked at dark.
Couple's ardor inspired prior to her departure abroad to Denmark.

     Confederate embers scorch paper, but less so than this dolorous heart.
Blazing in solidarity on a barren porch; a pyre for finest silks torn apart.
With weeping wounds cauterized, the true healing now just starts.

Sincerely,
Rekindled

Vick Mandrake Feb 2018
Have you ever touched a flame?
I don't believe I have.
My body has burned
on coals and embers.
My fingers have scorched
on stovetops and lighters.
My hands have followed
sweet candles and incense.
And my eyes have danced
with the flickering dames.
But I ask you again,
if it isn't too much,
have you ever touched a flame?
Can a flame truly be touched?
Dakota Jan 2018
my shoes are caked
with brown mud and
my arms have new burns.
getting high alone in the woods
is fine until the paranoia sets is
and the trees i love on lsd
become my hated enemies.
i find a book of matches on
the ground, twenty minutes
after my lighter died.
they are wet and do not light.
the cigarette between my lips
dangles there, before falling
into the mud i trudge through.
i use my own name in vain
and try to pretend that
losing my lucky isn’t unlucky.
the title was given to me as a prompt by a friend
Alec Dec 2017
It’s like I’m on fire.
A human torch, or rather, a lighter.
Flame shoots from my lips and fingertips.
Burning those around me to a crisp.
At first the flame is only warm,
Until it starts licking around the torn.
Growing brighter and heavier,
The flame forces all other senses into a dull blur.
Don’t help me,
You’re only providing more fuel.
You’re no savior, you’re just a fool.
I am Flame. I am Smoke.
The syllables i speak will burn and make you choke.
Bryan Oct 2017
Eddies and curls
Swishes and swirls
From fingertips
Relief begins
To make its trip.
Hold the flame
To the tip
Butane leaked
In its slow drip
Fuels the flame
Lit by flint.

There it goes!
There it goes...
Above the chin
Under the nose
Between the lips
To stain the gums
Over the tongue
Into the lungs.

The cheeks, they flush
Feel the rush!
The heart beats fast
To clean the blood...
Clean the blood
Of toxic gas.

The heart, it stills,
The lungs, they slow.
Down the hill
The windpipe goes.
One last gasp
Of poison still,
And the brain dies last
To seal the deal.
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