#combustion
heat generated ****** combustion
burning cells in motion
-mind blown
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 9:37 AM UTC
Eyes blurring.
Thoughts boiling,
skin crawling.
Veins swelling,
feet kicking,
nails clawing.
Teeth grinding,
spine torquing,
mind bending,
hair tearing,
fists coiling,
ears ringing,
lungs screaming,
heart incinerating,
chest caving—in
Jan 21
Jan 21, 2026 at 5:53 PM UTC
Self destruction
With no red button
Internal spontaneous combustion
A flipped switch
Quick curve ball pitch
Veered straight for the ditch
No countdown timer
No red, no blue wire
Just a smoldering dumpster fire
Struggle with each next breath
Welcoming a last breath
A timeless back and forth with death
©2024
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 4:06 PM UTC
~ inspired by, & for Sally~
the modern internal combustion engine
is a series of controlled explosions, a spark
ignites the flammable gasoline, the pistons
moving, dispensing energy to turn our
wheels so we may voyage as a pair, to
there, and to here:
our very hearts, the original model of
this energetic blood disbursement of
oxygen ignited by electric pulsations,
one contemplates
at this late hour, at this late date, when the
moving parts, obedient servants,
collectively concur
that the use-by-date has nearly arrived and
we must soon take a sabbatical to the whereafter
what two, surely not three, digits will complete the right side of our hyphen,
our from~ to, as if that were an achievement,
more than merely, an identifying bracelet
think upon it, thousand of explosions,
millions of sparkings electric, we have been
engineering our reactors to go to over 100%,
until we cry out
how long you gonna run that body down,
and when the answer is ascertained,
we now done and undone,
we
no longer care, that last datum,
we are, of it, unconscious,
the date prior inscribed in flesh,
its mate, its uncomplimentary
complement,
can be only scribed in
Vermont granite,
as a warning
to any passerby
that yet harbors
the illusory that
the future can
be foretold
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 9:27 AM UTC
on the first day,
silence exists
to none; it awaits
the spark to turn
its light into sound
from singularity
to polarity
fastens and worsen
its glaze turns to screams;
the kaleidoscopic cacophony
turns nothingness
to an array of beauty
god looked at
the neverending pyre
and said
"that is all good"
he rest well the next day
Nov 15, 2023
Nov 15, 2023 at 9:09 AM UTC
watching for air a mad thing of static to do
unwashed i hold it all foreign my perspectives clothed as the enemy
an agreed muscle of tension with pockets fracked into my hands
i look out the window wide agape guidance invasive drills of heat the giving sunlight ; punishing,
a tree, the grieving buildings
the whinging of cicadas
and here i am watching for air
one point for the weather
one point for the view
one big point for my ****** condition
one point for the passers by and their galling dramedies
and there it is ; the wiry plan that's built
from one small tickle of wild thought
formed long ago
trickling to the current day
some whipped wit of poisoned psychology
fed to the inbreed (welcome you panting imp)
decades of saved up fatty layers
a deed of habitual sediment
retching until the tide laps become still
a cured and congealed gladness
marbled, a butcher would say
i am full and hearted and heated and padded senseless
turned under a heel with my wastrel history
i’ve accomplished this a stifled condition
of poisoned obscenity
seated deep almost fully incapacitated
in my armchair on this chummy day
my leisure clothes greasy sluck against my blemished hide
a packet of cigarettes to my side
rounded upon by sounds of the neighbours affairs
with a gasp of energy i 'skin one off' vigorously
my system trembling with years of hard liquor
borderline to a state of unconscious whelm
retained final prime for ignition
i could manage a spectacle
a blinding flare
a glorious incineration
and the release
of my true oder
i light a match for my cigarette
May 29, 2023
May 29, 2023 at 6:54 PM UTC
In a place
where no one
but we, between
sun set and rise
a cut of bamboo
is fused and the
coffee cup brimful
to the lip, the
label uplifted to the
next level and
sloshed on a lovely
sharing hours,
slowly we muted
and respiring like
a new combustion
engine of a new
2020 Mercedes Benz
car racing on pure
coal tar high road
Nov 14, 2020
Nov 14, 2020 at 6:42 PM UTC
a raging hollow in the chest
breathing air
still no combustion
darling just a spark
then perhaps
the heart's embers
crackle and burn
into fires in the sky
wishes in the night
Jul 10, 2019
Jul 10, 2019 at 10:32 AM UTC
The stack of stones in my throat
lodged firm since my youth,
The ship sunk but I missed the boat
my lies are soaked in truth.
Every remaining image has been erased,
I miss it more than I admit,
maybe it’s just been misplaced,
in an area left forgotten to sit.
Scribbling an echo down
my notebook’s incomplete,
lacking adjective to a noun,
description’s too discreet.
The road evolves into an ice rink,
snow piles now a wood board.
A crack comes and down I’ll sink,
time lost I can not afford.
The cold embraces that replaced heat,
radiation poisoning from the sun,
but still the rays felt so sweet,
I thought I was it’s only one.
Translating from a heart,
the message is unclear,
a sentence that could never start,
and one we could never hear.
Now I see all the fires lit,
playing chance with a flame,
this round I don’t wish to forfeit,
but I’m not ontop of my game.
The breadcrumbs I left as a trail,
are far and few inbetween,
and so far they’ve gotten stale,
blue mold blends in with the green.
Reciting a favourite memory,
one I wish I could forget,
replace the plot points cleverly,
and rearrange the character set.
Praying for a dedication
from any soul to stop,
but I’ll take my medication
until my eyes drop.
Heart fire,
all admire.
Heart fire,
it will never tire.
Scribbling an echo down
my notebook’s incomplete,
lacking adjective to a noun,
description’s too discreet.
Scribbling an echo down,
my notebook’s incomplete,
to the words forever bound,
feelings wedged in concrete.
Nov 29, 2018
Nov 29, 2018 at 7:33 AM UTC
We can never love again
without combustion,
a self-destruction,
if our lips were to meet
again;
we were never meant to be.
Oct 20, 2018
Oct 20, 2018 at 4:58 PM UTC
My mind’s checking in to checking out,
I’ve decided I don’t want to know what the ending’s about.
I’m tired of gaining wrinkles under my sunken eyes,
and I’m sick of grey hairs and done with grey skies.
The skeletons are stacked and toppling out from my closet,
the space is barely enough for the ones born in the past ten years.
They tap and they rap and even try to claw it
but I’ve soundproofed the walls and even plugged my ears.
The gasoline has been splashed on the ground,
and I’m buying matches by the pound.
I’ve got a war campaign between my heart and my head,
bleach doesn’t clean the stain from the mass of bloodshed.
I’m tired of holding my tongue and hiding a quivering lip,
and I’m ignoring all those who tell me to “just get a grip.”
The demons are pushing their way out from under my floorboards,
They’ve always cracked but now they also screech.
I search in hope for some rope but only find extensions cords,
and even then they’re fully used or slightly out of reach.
The gasoline has been splashed on the ground,
and I’m buying matches by the pound.
I guess this would be my goodbye
but absolutely nothing about it is good.
Let us not pretend to cry,
but admit I made it further than I should.
There’s a certain strength in keeping your eyes open;
a certain strength that I just lack,
skip all the words, they don’t need to be spoken
just please let me sleep in a place that’s forever pitch black.
Sep 20, 2018
Sep 20, 2018 at 3:54 PM UTC
honestly, baby, who are you?
you can walk all tall all you want to
but honestly, who are you?
nobody cares what comes out of your mouth
and nobody even listens.
nobody knows your name or the stars in your eyes or how they
glitter and shine like the constellations at night
honestly, baby, who are you?
because let's get real here:
no one really has stars in their eyes because no one has ever gotten close enough to anyone's face to determine the constellations
we romanticize eyes like skies and fields and oceans
we claim that the first thing we notice about a person
is their eyes and the stars that reside in them
but let's get real: that's not how it works.
we notice smiles and laughter first
we notice the bands on someone's t-shirt
we notice the way their hair cascades
the way they stand or loud things that they say
we notice their mannerisms and their pose
their scraped-up knees and the brand of clothes that they drape themselves in
eyes are beautiful
no one has ever fully had the same, that I've seen
but no one ever notices them first, because eyes are like secrets
eyes are like windows
you can admire a house from afar
but you have to get close to peek inside
that's the part that we romanticize
it's the ability to approach and appreciate
but if you're just driving by, you aren't going to note a house's windows but rather its architecture and unique colors
whether it's wood panels or brick or stones
you notice the cars in the driveway before you think about the people inside
that's how it is when we think of eyes
because people are like houses
full of secrets and
when you're from the same neighborhood, the floorplans are all similar
but the insides and the paints and the pictures and the residents
are never the same.
one time I read something that said to fall in love with a person's eyes,
because they never change or get old
but I don't think the author of that quote ever thought of cataracts or clouding or colored contacts or blood vessels popping
everyone changes
we're like phases of the moon or the path of the planets around the sun
every single year we shift and grow close or apart
eyes are like stars, some nights they shine but they also fade away for bursts of time
what zodiac were you born under?
does it determine the secrets hidden in your pupils?
the stars that change their place in the night
are just as distant as a stranger's eyes
I hope that's not what people notice about me first
because I might not know who I am
but I know that I'd rather be recognized
as the girl with the band you like on her shirt
or the smile that is somehow contagious
or the laugh that fills a room
I don't want people to notice first
that I'm just another one of the millions of girls with green eyes.
if you're searching for stars, look somewhere else
because the universe makes me feel small
and if I'm gonna go to space then I'm more interested in the black holes
if you're curious, I'm an aquarius
it's a fixed sign but I've never really felt fixed in this world or in time
I'm a traveler of spectrums
I don't really know what that means
but I do know that it's not found within my eyes but rather the fluidity and gracelessness of my motions
it's in my fumbling tongue and off-white teeth
it's in my clothes and the skin underneath
it's in my favorite foods and the things that I drink
I'll walk as tall as I want to
I'll speak so loud that you have no choice but to focus on the things coming out of my mouth
I will continue to search for stars within my own eyes
because if I can't map them myself then I know that no stranger meeting me for the first time ever could.
my eyes are not stars
because I am a supernova
my eyes are not stars
because I am an explosion
my eyes are not stars
because I am made of a collection of chemicals in a state of reaction
and I can barely handle this one combustion
how am I supposed to be a congregation of them?
your eyes are not stars.
remember that.
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
In nights of rest,
rest assured I will see you in all sunny tomorrows
So much solar power
feeds the earth,
feeds the soul,
incumbent in its given place,
We sail-pirouette around it
on a spherical hoop-dance
So volatile, a combustion hydrogen-cosmic-lantern
and a coalescing helium brew
Lash out your heated tongues
push flare waves to lick our living sphere,
concentrates on heated brows and scatters atoms and molecules
The upper push for earth-life and this mater Sun
is but a conservador wearing its blinding cosmic-girth
Made homage to, anthropomorphized in past primordial granduer, spot your ancient rays on earth's gyrating seasons,
from dawn to dusk so much the sun...
Sep 20, 2014
Sep 20, 2014 at 7:39 PM UTC
You explode on impact. The dying wait for your return. The masses covered in body parts and blood. The resting place for an eternal sunshine. It crawls up your spine, and whispers down your ear. You refuse to listen, but they still won't give up. You won't give in. If blood is what they want, blood is what they'll get. It dwells from within. A star explodes and then all went dim.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 4:53 PM UTC