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.

Is the villain just,
A broken, bleeding, hurting,
Human, or not?

Perhaps their pain is,
Justified. But does it clear,
Their slate, leaving crumbs?

Do they feel remorse?
Do they feel any regret, or
Are they too broken?

Listen to their tale,
You do not have to agree.
Show them empathy.

Such a simple thorn,
Suffocating my nose and,
Clogging up my brain.

The hill I will die on,
Is that most battlefields aren’t worth dying on.
Some people see a mob,
And grab their pitchforks and their torches,
Without even understanding,
What they’re fighting for.
Perhaps they love the bloodshed,
Perhaps they love the gore,
Perhaps they feel righteous indignation,
And are adamant to settle the score.
It could be some primal need to fight,
Or some could be sure that they’re right.
Either way, I don’t see the point,
I understand that sometimes a war is just,
Most times, it feels like a bust.
A waste of money,
A waste of time,
A waste of precious human lives.
All for what? Some measly land?
How greed corrupts the righteous hands.
So the hill I will die on,
Is that some battles aren’t worth fighting,
That they aren’t worth the pain.
The lives they ruin,
The families they break,
The friendships covered in contusions,
The human souls that are broken and bruised.
All for what?

Waiting for the one,
Single perfect moment when I,
Finally, feel free.

When I breathe and it,
Feels like I am alive and,
Everything is fine.

When that moment comes,
Appreciation will spread,
Smiling happily.

Sometimes when the world feels too bilow,
I cover up my ears.
I fade into the shadows,
And wipe my dripping tears.
Nothing ever seems to be policanary,
Always moving further on,
With no destination…
Tune out the jabberwocky.
Ignore the noise.
Maybe I’m a crybaby,
Or am I poised?
Listening to all the shouting,
Drowning in all the loudness,
Shuddering at my plonious thoughts,
That fuel my fears.
What am I to do?
I must continue,
To push through,
This kilomuny, trepidary,
Oligarny, relinbary,
Foolish jabberwocky.

There was a girl who danced in the rain.
No one understood her or cared for her pain.
She danced out in the puddles all alone.
No sun in sight, for it had set long ago.
She used the thunder booms to dampen her screams,
As she pondered through the pitter-patter, what everything means.
Sometimes the others would spray her with a hose,
Knocking her glasses off her nose.
They’d shatter,
Masked by the pitter-patter,
They’d laugh at her,
Since it didn’t matter to them.
She was going through a storm with winds like a hurricane.
All that the others saw was a girl going insane.
All that she wanted was someone to listen to her cries,
But all that anybody did when they looked her way was sigh.
She danced throughout the night,
The lightning lit up the sky.
She would have danced till the end of time,
If he hadn’t stepped into her life.
He took her hand,
Stopped her from spinning around.
The rain fades away from where they stand,
And she finally feels found.
The girl who danced in the rain,
Found a partner for her ballet.