there's a lot wrong
with the earth- & with my head i'm trying to shed my addict skin i'm so much more than what i depict & i've come pretty far, considering where i've been & the world still looks bleak but i've gained some light by burning down every bridge in my sight & you may say my pyromania is born out of spite but your toxicity is now gone- & i can finally breathe right so i'm going to continue to fix myself i'll box up old memories & hide them on the shelf cause i'm tired of treating the past like a prison cell. & i've roamed ******* far from the pits of your ****.
I just want to be set on fire.
I'm not asking for a funeral pyre, or to burn like the sun, and light up the day, or to shine like a fireworks display. Just let me roast 'til I'm charred a deep black. Let the smoke rise up in billowing stacks, and once I'm burnt through, take hold of my ashes, and toss me across wild vegetable patches. Let me take root in the summertime haze. Let me find peace in the cool autumn days. Let me take shelter from winter's contempt. Let me sprout new leaves as spring is redeem't. I ask no forgiveness, no charity, mercy. I don't wish for anything granted. Conversely, I ask for two items, and if you're so keen; A matchbox, and one gallon of gasoline.
we don't need no water let the ******* burn
You cultivated, harvested and produced everything I would desire like Embers, I was once discovered by your fire. In my darkest hours you'd always give me reason, like wildfires in unexpected seasons. Every part of me learned to radiate, ecstatically exposed to all your burning states. Then came the day I turned into dust, and like a volcano you annihilated my trust. I was the property of a ****** arsonist, and starting fires is how his wickedness vents. It's hard to fathom that this started with little ignition, because it grew so fast into a vicious obsession. I asked you to stop smoking that day and it wasn't because I was simply sick of it, I just hated the fact that I saw myself in your half dead-cigarette. -
Sometimes your perfect "match" can perfectly burn you.
With an all-consuming fire,
He pulls out his lighter. A little flame of hope For a hopeless little pyro
I am writing a story about a pyromaniac at the moment. Guess what it's called? Inferno. How typical of me, so original
and i would light fires
to feel the heat and see the light i know i cannot be
Pyromania teaches you
something; Playing with fire is much like playing with hearts, someone will always feel the burn.
— The End —