Smiling kindhearted old man
Told me stories
How
He burnt the butterflies
How
He burnt human skin
Burnt villages
In burning squads
Of flamethrower men
Fire chased
Children and women
Over cliffs
Scares the **** out of me
To know that behind that smile
Is a dark hidden history

Climb aboard the Paper Airplane Express
Let’s fly to far away destinations
Where we land is random, it can’t be guessed
We have no preconceived expectations

Wings hand crafted by tiny artisans
Powered by adolescent dreams that ignite
Bright eyed smiles, marking the serene occasion
Of each and every planes inaugural flight

Hop aboard the Paper Airplane Express
No two planes are alike, each is unique
And not every flight is a success
But we can re-launch after a simple tweak

As our pilots aren’t allowed to play with matches
To date none of our planes have caught on fire
Though we have seen quite a few crashes
And apparently that little pyro bobby just made me a liar

The dismal scene
Of church
And parking lot
Played before her hazy eyes.
God absent from the pews,
The moon,
And wherever the **** else
People believed He could be.

She sat on the parking stop,
Knees close.
The night air lapped at her arms,
Raising hell beneath her skin,
And Satan
In her yearning bones.
Her heart beat
At varying abnormal paces.
Her stomach stirred
In craving.
She scratched at her ribs;
A little too hard,
Bruising ****** skin.

God was gone.

And for a moment all she had was a sympathetic truck,
Parked next to her.
But then
She knew she didn't even have that.

Images of her childhood
Sunday mornings, accompanying grandma to church
Appeared as targets
For mind's gun.
She brought from behind her,
The gasoline.
And ran
Without hesitation,
Skipping gleefully as she poured.

Then lit a small pool.
And watched as the church
Erupted into burning
Chaos and
Forgiving embers.
Then she left to satiate
Bitter craving.