#arsonist
This world made me think I was greedy for love
When in reality, it didn’t give me enough of it
It starved me of it
Who has the real love?
For some I can’t see through the murky water
For some it is clear as day
For some it is locked up deep inside
For some it is given too freely
Well, who has the real love?
Does this world have any of it left?
For whatever is left I’ll pay any price for it
I’ll give up my my mind, heart, and soul
I’ll find every spark of it and be the biggest flame in the world
I’ll share it with everyone who knows what to do with it
I’ll be the fire no one could put out
I’ll watch anything that doesn’t come from love burn away with a smile on my face
I’ll be the arsonist that loved
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 4:30 PM UTC
The arsonist burned everything to ash.
He’d already been hurt in the past.
Due to his fear and lack of cheer,
He’d burn the world down,
Back to the ground.
He’d never let anyone touch him,
Their fingers would be set aflame.
Who needs companionship?
The arsonist thought everyone was the same.
They’d all burn him,
So he’d burn them first.
They’d all hurt him,
So he’d make sure he’s the worst.
So no one will bother,
As he pours the kerosene.
He lights the match,
Stares at the flame,
Wishing that his heart could take the pain.
She left him for another guy,
And he always wondered why,
She betrayed him after he had promised his life,
And stabbed him in the back with a knife.
He flicked the flame into the fuel.
Heard the symphony of crackling.
He’d take the whole world with him,
As it all burned down, he was cackling.
May 10, 2025
May 10, 2025 at 7:48 PM UTC
we have an understanding
you and I
carefully tiptoe around
no touch waltz game of mirrors
and pretending
we do not see
attempts to follow or to lead
all focus on to hide
enough to please believe
I am worthy of the dance
inner thoughts printing press
working overtime
writing stories variations
hundreds thousands
locked up overflowing
when any one would do
finding myself
grasping lighters
hiding in my pockets
desperately wanting
something real
a fire all consuming
destroying what is me
to burn all past beliefs
I would grab old stories
by the handful crumpled paper
dismiss all for just one truth
throw them all to fuel flames
for just one scribbled piece
of any story from you
answers in a conversation
surrendered for imagined somethings
the nature of human loneliness
reading only what there is to read
there never would be fires
or firework displays
no darkened smoke
no burning out
no disappointment
just endless inner libraries in decay
Nov 23, 2024
Nov 23, 2024 at 8:16 AM UTC
light me on fire
set me ablaze
i let you fan me till i grow big
and swallow forests whole
nobody blames the arsonist
just the fire.
Oct 25, 2022
Oct 25, 2022 at 7:42 AM UTC
you’re an arsonist
—you never failed to burn my whole;
always setting fire on my body and soul
indeed an arsonist
—you turned me into a thin smoke,
i disappeared; you never looked
Jul 23, 2022
Jul 23, 2022 at 11:44 AM UTC
I hate how I love this feeling
Warmth that crawls through each vein
All control lost in it's presence
Dependency driving insane
I ride wave like a surfboard
Wherever it may go
No matter how low it carries me
Don't have the will to let go
Time spins circles around
Feels like I am frozen in place
Not only am I not in first
Not even running the race
But wings of comfort lift
In the air while I am high
I inevitably come crashing down
That comfort is only a lie
Hardly notice pain when I land
The drugs have made me numb
It is only when I run out of them
That I am forced to face what I've become
I watch dreams slip out of hands
They fly somewhere out of range
In their place are thorny regrets
Does not seem like a fair exchange
Nothing good blooms here anymore
Body became a barren wasteland
Only the occasional tumbleweed
Rolls across desert of sand
My soul scorched and blackened
Like earth where lightning struck
All the universe offers me
A pocketful of bad luck
The world a beautiful place I know
To me it no longer looks that way
Envy the people who still see it as such
From my perspective surroundings are grey
Maybe if I hold on a little longer
Blue skies will one day return
It's hard to hope when you've witnessed
Everything you love and care for burn
And it is even harder living
Amidst ashes of your greatest desire
When you cannot escape the awful fact
You're the one who started the fire
Aug 24, 2021
Aug 24, 2021 at 2:39 AM UTC
Mommy drinks because you're bad
Destroy, she said
But remember
The practical pyromaniac
Burns responsibly
May 26, 2020
May 26, 2020 at 2:24 PM UTC
These emotions fuel fires,
I get excited watching them burn.
Every time I look it has a new flare,
So bright I don’t want to look away,
It spreads and I don’t care,
I let it destroy just to watch it go.
I sit here tossing more gasoline,
just to smell the evergreen,
It only lasts as long as it burns.
you’d think the arsonist would be the one who learns,
but mistakes don’t make lessons if they feel good,
when you think you can fix them on your own,
you only get so far till you get what you’ve sown.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 2:53 PM UTC
as i'm laying down tonight
i think of how exhausting it is to wash you off my fingers
even if it's not like i ever get to hold your hand
or touch you, for that matter.
but everynight i have to wash your essence off my fingers
like trying to get rid of gasoline but always ending up
setting myself aflame. and that despite
knowing how dangerous and hazardous that **** could be
you just couldn't stop because you love the smell of gasoline
that fills up your lungs like pumps of adrenaline
right before the stench of your own burning flesh
chokes you to death. most nights, i wash you off like paint.
you can tell that i'm trying to forget what
i bled after your face appeared on the plain canvass
when my hand automatically reaches up and
perfectly colors your lips, and i couldn't help
but resemble them to pastel pink petals
of the roses growing in royal gardens
and i know i'm fooling everyone
making them believe that such expertise
is achieved because
your bottom lip have felt my gentle stroke when i
don't even know how your lips would feel when they quiver
under a curious and longing touch.
so i watch the colors spiral down the drain.
i watch my hands brush against each other
so intensely, trying to scrub the paint gone even
if it won't go away. even if the blood is clean.
even if i look clean.
how can loving you secretly be ever clean?
i'm scared it will never go away.
i am a painter in my own sense, capturing a glimpse
of something so intoxicating and aesthetically forbidden
then turning it into something tangible.
this is how painters show that their hearts
collapse with just a name
with just a glance not meant for their way.
and they paint what little of the hope
that shouldn't have been there in the first place
and every night. every single night they would aim
tirelessly to turn it into something they could allow.
something that could exist not only in my head.
something that i can call mine even if you
don't know that i am yours
and i knew this because your face
have begun to fill every blank wall
in my ******* house and i wonder how it is
possible to fall in love with someone the whole world
believes you shouldn't.
they say that when we turn our hands into fists
it is the size of our hearts.
and sometimes after the long hours of painting
i wash my paint-stained hands clean of
an abstract myriad of yellow and blue and black
and red. red for blood. red for love. red for fire.
i wash my paint-stained hands
turning them into fists
so maybe, just maybe
it will be the same
as getting rid of the colors off my young broken heart.
colors for you.
yet i always end up washing them off
with ******* gasoline.
and you still dare to call me 'smart'
Jul 21, 2018
Jul 21, 2018 at 8:09 AM UTC
I could light my clothes on fire to rid them of the smell of your cologne
or I could singe my palms for every time you held my hand, but still made me feel alone
I could strike a match against my collar for every time you cursed my name
or burn my fingertips on worn down lighters and let them swallow me in flames
I could let the ashes douse my passions and let the fumes dance up towards heaven in the sky
And if God asked why you were crying,
you'd say the smoke got in your eyes
I hope my name burns you, just like you burned mine
I hope it hurts you
I hope you hurt
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 7:06 PM UTC
not one person knew who lit the fire
at the old pub in the town's main drag
it will remain an unsolved piece of inquire
who on that night used a burner's tag
back in the year of nineteen fifty three
the watering-hole went up in flames
from the locale an arsonist did so flee
after playing his match striking games
a shadow some of the locals have seen
where the timbered hotel once stood
hovering around like a ghostly screen
this figure is an omen not of the good
if it could speak what would it ever tell
in regards to the starting of the inferno
which was like a flammable torching hell
one but surmises about events long ago
Mar 13, 2017
Mar 13, 2017 at 10:39 PM UTC
I met a Carnival Arsonist
burlap sack around her
fiery heart, force taught
to start fires
bright, to distract her from stars.
Always sat in her ashes
Marlboro hacked up her passion
until the ferris wheel called her
to get a glimpse at her burns.
Each night it's siren syringes
hallucinations injected noises
bending over foreclosure
turning up folders
found an old phone her
Owner planted to spy.
He popped her first red balloon
kept the dart pressed in her side.
Manic Panic won't let her dye.
Her highlights don't hide her lies.
"I'm Fine" always "I'm Fine".
Built thick walls of timber
to guard to try Tinder.
Tender to two tired hearts
begged strangers to beat her
"Play a game, win a prize
Play a game, win a prize"
Poured gasoline on the
carnival, watched it
burn from inside.
Sep 14, 2016
Sep 14, 2016 at 12:22 PM UTC
My breath was choking on fire
It brought me to my knees as I plead
Please, someone save me.
Save me from this world
That is consuming me in fire
I'm burning up in flames.
I've come to realize
That I'm just the fuel to someone's fire.
A minor casualty in this world
Filled with the burning desire
To lie, cheat, steal.
******
The room was blackened out with smoke
I could no longer see the light.
My coughing was worsening with each breath.
This is really the end of my story.
My mind was racing with different scenarios,
All of them leading towards death.
I know there is no hope,
but I have to try to tell them.
Each step feels like my last,
My body was aching.
My steps heaved as I dragged them
across the blackened floor
through the rubble.
I made it to the desk
my hand staggered as I wrote
"This was no accident,
It was a ******
Feb 8, 2016
Feb 8, 2016 at 11:29 AM UTC
In between strangers and friends,
And of lines to be crossed and erased,
You'd pull me out without a second thought
And every time you do, you'd whisper
'I feel cold.' Quiet and hot like liquid gold
I'd touch your arm and you gently shiver
I set you afire each time
You'd hold me closer and smile
As you try to lick a final sizzle to my finger
You're a pyromaniac and I'm an arsonist
I wonder how you see me
And I wonder if you know how I see you
Nov 27, 2014
Nov 27, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
i've never been in a burning building but standing in that room with you
sure did feel like it.
you’ve filled my fragile lungs
with ash and soot,
and my altered anatomy
has become a black abyss
you were the arsonist,
who intricately ignited
my bones through your false accusations:
and your lack to love,
executed criminally
you've ripped the stars
right out of my sky -
every single constellation
my wrecked heart radiates for yours,
while a Siberian iceberg
sits in your chest
the stinging of languish
spills from my pores
baby, why can't you see i'm the best?
so remember to forget me, fuel my fire:
let the flames flourish,
watch them grow higher
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 7:17 PM UTC
In my spare time, I put out his fires, and I cut
the bottoms of my feet on broken glass while
traversing across the muggy, jagged scape of his mind.
He calls my name between pulls of cigarettes and the
striking of cheap matches, and it's worth noting that I never liked
my name much until I heard the fires scream it.
I'd stand at his side and watch the flames cause his heart to implode,
and I'd fidget with his ***** shaking fingers while I listened to him
whisper something about 'I love yous'
A man's art is a reflection of self. I take note of this,
while I watch the flames dance and swing in the browns of his eyes
and warm the cavern that, moments before, had been a heart.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC