"arson" poems
you stolen pink, arson rose
you angry yellow
you know you the new black?
you inmate slap
color of construction
oh range
convict cage or bruised sunset
you peel or rind
oh range
oh range
(oh aren't you glad I didn't say orange?)
you uniform agent
you coral fire burnt
aren't you glad i didn't say orange?
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 1:20 PM UTC
This is the Last Straw –
and Something About Sacred Buckets of Holistic Ice Water
****** predators, human smugglers
Starvation in the Sudan, civil war
in Syria, mass executions in China
Journalists murdered almost everywhere
Fashionable infanticide, homelessness
Unemployment, urban terrorism
Mass ****** school shootings, wildfires, racism
An unstable national government
Anti-Semitism, border desperation
Riots, arson, ecclesiastical corruption
**** alcoholism, historical cleansing
Skinheads, abuse, Khardassianistas
Volcanos, the death penalty, free verse
Affluenza, Jerry Springer, The View
Herbal tea, antifa, anti-antifa
And the soul-sucking existential despair
Of inspirational singer-songwriters:
Nah, not a bit worried about plastic straws
But I must go now; The Voices are telling me
To pour a bucket of ice water over my head
(As long as it’s not a plastic bucket)
Jul 27, 2018
Jul 27, 2018 at 3:58 PM UTC
Last Night;
I dreamt of children smoking cigarettes;
I dreamt of kids committing ****** arson, and human trafficking.
Last Night,
I dreamt of a hyperbolic ********** of Innocence
that our culture so unflinchingly asserts
from so ruthlessly young an Age.
Aug 24, 2013
Aug 24, 2013 at 2:39 PM UTC
arson farson
larson? pio
leo trio el feo
angle fangle
his mite
is frite
scrap flap
trap slap hlap,
harun al rash
enter trash, mash
grate great
***** sheikh
eel feel meal really real
aeal steel molecular
trust bust, shrekular
even bush
shrugs off
the north tower.
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 4:20 PM UTC
Dazed.
The stars never seemed so far away
Lying with hopelessness sleeping next to my pillow
In the arms of seclusion, still I lay
After a long night we formed a *********
No strength to pray
Withing my carapace
I inquire a reason
Of why I'm so numb
Where is my lighter?
Concealing my pain
Where is my grinder?
When life is like a sudden rush of fresh air to
A raging set of flames
Savagely searching for an euphoria
But it's the impossible to maintain
Longing for an escape
Only in sweet serenity
But when 5 fingers deadly hugs your heart
& wrings out your
Innocence, happiness, and tranquility
You are forced to watch them leak
Decrepit
Reaching for a lighter to blaze the leaf
Because in the sober mind
You Are Weak
No that is me.
So I begin to pollute my temple
Taking it all into my bloodstream
With the exhale of a breath
In the mist of a cloud
I release my exhaustion
My emotion and my temper
Enhancing my inner being suddenly,
I know with facts that I am steel
Making it through another dreadful night
My wounds are temporarily healed
But
When there was no soul to console
No arms to hold
No pen to make art
No illumination from the dark
Only the flame that I flick
Which forms so beautifully &
Dances in front of my eyes
Offended that beauty could destroy so ruthlessly
A killer in disguise
Or ruthlessly be destroyed
In this life full of void
Consumed by the misery of all the screams
All the noise
When the Sun's job is done, it hides from the World
Full of hatred and pity
Another night comes
Captive in these four walls
No where to run
Now I'm forced to look at how far I've come
I could have died in insanity
Arson my soul
Plead guilty of ******
A Killer Upfront
If I had not match all those nights with all those blunts
Copy Right 2013
©Patty Ann
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 5:08 PM UTC
‘Arson’,
Cries the enslaved gunpowder path ,
That bridged our realms , of love and lust;
For beyond the rubbles , of Cupid’s wrath,
We are but orphan specks of dust.
So now,
Dwell we in the realms ,of those forgotten,
And to every legend , vanquished by rust,
Remind with verses bold , bitter but seldom rotten,
That We are but orphan specks of dust .
For every silent ballad
Raging in distant lands ;
For every broken dream
Swallowed in temporal sands;
For every dewdrop that will never burst ;
We are but orphan specks of dust .
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 1:16 AM UTC
coloring inside the lines is impossibly bleak,
with a hissing noise
atomic locomotive
rounds the bend,
extrasensory perception is not
a mindless gift,
it's a train station in the clouds,
tracking all my starting points to you,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
you leave in opera
with secrets and grievances
under the radar,
and your ready-made
wings catch in the power lines,
you're coiling like smoke
in the arches of my cathedral,
a sense of elegant decay
while sweeping up the debris,
committing arson
with the paraffin of my temporal lobe.
yesterday's fairground waltzes,
ghosted lullabies,
and woodland hymnals,
set in a context not of
resolution and closure,
but of contradiction and assimilation,
break the bond,
away they float on purveyor belts,
one too many molecules,
one too many departures,
always on the surface of everything,
nothing in the middle,
nothing at the end.
Feb 16, 2023
Feb 16, 2023 at 7:27 AM UTC
(this one is about a piece of cloth)
The said attire is not common wear
no suit and tie or gown
needing no further introductions
or additional instructions
Its layers are abstruse
It is of certain quality of tension
resembling clumsy bodies
trying to meet and greet each other
talk about belonging to someone
Reserved and refined
restricted they cannot rewind
Ornamental is what they are
And you
you are judgmental
Ready to look at the attire again?
One layer got lit by a precedent match
which led to an arson
you could not even start that
with the fire you drew up your leg
Everyone is promised to someone
who lives in another country,
and will break their heart
and turn them into a pillar of salt
for looking back to the tragedy
Forever drawn too impulsively to those
Daria is not supposed to look at
She touches them as often as possible
Only few times she's been able stop
Those times retain a repetitive pulse,
same in its essence but,
alternating on the patters and pace
I can see you are listening to me right now,
I should probably want that
Listening is a beautiful thing,
a blessing in disguise and
acting on the details of your acoustic research
is a physical translation of affection
Tell me that you are not unable to translate
I at least need to feel you again
Laugh at you even though our situation is dead serious
I scrutinize the piece of cloth for any signs of damage
You see I wouldn't want it to
get ripped off anytime soon
Although I'd gladly tear off
the rest of your clothes next time I see you
Apr 14, 2022
Apr 14, 2022 at 6:23 AM UTC
If I could build the world,
It'll have a paper zoo,
Full of paper animals,
It'll have a paper plane,
A paper town and paper train.
I'll create a little paper giraffe,
Because I know it'll make you laugh.
I'll draw it's spots like paper graphs,
And I'll make it walk on paper paths.
If we went to court I'd let you follow my paper trail.
Doesn't matter how much paper I spend,
I'll always have some paper to lend,
Some of the paper are hard and some bend,
When I text I'll hit a paper send...
But it doesn't matter,
Because you'd light all the paper,
Fall into arson and shatter,
My paper world.
No matter how much I can create or give,
You'll never let any one of my dreams live.
Feb 22, 2016
Feb 22, 2016 at 10:28 PM UTC
My pen just won’t translate clichés
For one reason or another.
It would rather ****** the page
Than aid in the smothering
Of youth, bridge the gap of old age,
Take mass graves and cover them, and
Would rather fade into disgrace
Than find a remedy to the blubbering.
Because this pen was not designed
To draw rainbows from hurricanes,
It would rather commit every crime
Than sketch new hues to the stain glass
Windows of anarchy and rhyme;
Rather commit arson daily
Than dig up the past for all to see
But none to find.
And one day soon you will race past the
Apple Store with its blaring screens,
The calamity of another mise en scéne
With nothing new to say but alas,
You can always find my pen in dreams
That make burning sense
Before they come to pass.
May 16, 2017
May 16, 2017 at 1:19 PM UTC
"What's funny is" is a ****** statement to be on the receiving end of, it nearly ever ends well.
What's funny is... Often times, most of the time, it's not funny at all. Curious, that we take humorous language and make it into lighter fluid to burn bridges.
What's funny is... The fire is usually a case of arson brought about by projection of in-the-moment feelings, that are fleeting. ******** that we allow ourselves to make them permanent; just mindless masochistic beasts wallowing in the ashes.
What's funny is... The echo chambers we've created for ourselves are actually prisons. Ironic, that we make up walls made out of bricks of unreachable goals, and feel disappointment when we don't achieve them.
What's funny is... Is that the more I interact with people the more I understand why we let ourselves indulge, and indulge, and indulge, to numb the monotony for just one ******* second. Nerve wracking, that every person is just a liability I cannot trust to not become the shackles attaching the weights that drown me.
What's funny is... As hard as I try to remain invisible, I'm forever tracked by a spotlight that blinds me. Insane, to think for one second we are anything but dirt on the ground; let me be dirt.
What's funny is... The numbness, and the pain, are like logs on the fire. Enduring, daily, the pokes and prods to keep the embers going when all they wanna do is die.
What's funny is... I like to dance in the flames but hate being on fire. Truthfully, I aim for embers.
Sep 5, 2018
Sep 5, 2018 at 12:26 AM UTC
Ante, Shuffle, Deal me in
You should know that I came to win
Perfect smile, low cut dress
You'll reveal everything
Cut the deck and deal the cards
I cant win until this thing starts
We both know this is my last game
Place your bets, raises, calls
I bet my blind you're a queen of hearts
Pocket Aces, bluff and call
I'd chase the river from this start
No one wins until one of us ends
Play the slow game and stay your hand
There's no way I can lose this game
My chips are all in when you're playing with my heart
I chased my queen down the river
*** commited and I'm all in
Cashing in on my losings
Neither of us can ever win
We could run away together
We'd have to leave right now
Let them chase us for forever
And burn this card house down
Time to make a decision
This has gone on way too long
Stay, fold, or raise me
Cant hide behind your cards
When you gave me your heart, baby
You said it was safe to play
But my hearts set on arson
And you love this game
Burn the card, throw the flop
Every tell reveals what your chasing
Say the words, we can stop
Let my jack baby be your king
After this we wont be the same
I'm the wildcard you cant tame
If we'd both win I'd throw the game
I would.
Texas-hold my
broken heart
We were always meant to end like this
A game of chance,
a deck of cards
Our love staked on a
game - of - risk
What the hell,
just roll the dice
Someone else could be just as nice
No more buy backs,
you cant re-buy-in
I'll burn this house down to ensure the house never wins
I'll chase my queen down the river
I committed and went all in
Now I'm cashing in on my losings
Cause its like I never win
We can run away together
We'd have to leave right now
We'll run until forever
And let them chase us down
Time to make a decision
We're both sick of playing games
Thought I'd win on the gamble
I wont buy your poker face
You've got a decision, baby
I've loved you from the start
Or is everything I've dreamed of
A bad hand of cards
(Your clever highness
usher out the bards
try to hide the bluff in
hide the bluff in your house of cards)
Time to make a decision
It'll never be the same
Thought I played a safe gamble
But you lit the flame
You decide if we chase the river
And if you'll lose this game
But if you're gonna chase that rabbit
This house - goes up - in flames
Chase me to the river
It'll cost you everything
Chase me for forever
But you know I'm all in
You've got to make a decision
I've loved you from the start
Or is everything I've played for
A bad hand of cards
Apr 9, 2015
Apr 9, 2015 at 11:53 PM UTC
Mad Hatter's getting narcissistic without his tea
That's how I feel when I can't burn things
but you can't spell "arsonist" without A-R-T
Maybe I'm crazy but honestly it's therapy
Bolt the door to the party and listen to them scream
Oceans of commotion won't extinguish my latest masterpiece
So kick back, fire up a cig
Get that influx of carcinogens
Conducive to my sick mind
Twisted nihilist
Got a pack of matches
Now I'm dreaming in a pipe
Erupt into flames
Sit back and look at all the pretty lights
The way they dance in the wind
Such an alluring sight
It's really just poetry in motion
As I watch through kaleidoscopic eyes
I'll smoke to that.
May 25, 2014
May 25, 2014 at 8:54 PM UTC
I want your insecurities to roll of your shoulders
like rain drops.
Catching them in my hands,
like marbles,
putting them in a soft leather bag,
tucking them in my pocket.
I crave to walk into space with you,
to play on the moon in big klunky space suits,
with moon dust floating up from our feet
like whispers ,
coating our lips so that they become part of our smiles.
I want to take you back to your childhood.
To days filled with sunscreen smell,
first pets,
overly large parkas,
and muddy rain boots.
To the times before you tried to keep up with societies idea of how you're supposed to live.
Before the first few times you were hurt,
finally beginning to build your walls high,
like a fortress.
I want to commit arson,
intentionally burn it down, no matter what the cost.
So I can peer through the wood smoke and see the center of your kingdom,
where you hide your rain drop marbles and your moon dust secrets.
I know it's incredibly selfish for me to write your name with black stones in the salt fields of Nevada without you ever knowing about it,
and then expecting you to open up your chest,
not your wooden box,
no,
your chest.
Where your heart lies,
and your lungs.
To open up your chest and show me the words scribbled all along your bodies walls.
It's not fair for me to expect it,
especially without telling you that if you did,
I fully intend on kissing them all until they are worn down and faded from your flesh where they float down to your feet like yellow feathers.
It's not fair,
but I'm tired of feeling you fade away,
or get annoyed when you change to fit in with the people around you.
Why would you change, darling?
When you're so imperfectly perfect.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 2:36 AM UTC
Romantic arson,
a thousand lovers burning
to the blooming flowers
of my accelerant:
amoral, senseless rage.
Because I do not
or will not consider
another vice
for your confessional.
Come shed indifference.
Thumb the holy water font.
Theorize inconclusive evidence
of life apart from love.
Crawl into
the vacant church
which is my heart.
Idolize Me.
Jul 6, 2010
Jul 6, 2010 at 3:05 PM UTC
Dr Manmohan Singh is the most honest Prime Minister
Ms Sonia Gandhi is his dearest sister
India is proud of Her Silvery Himalayas
And her Inestimable super scandals
If She is able to progress with such a large scale corruption
Which is as vibrant and furious as volcanic eruption,
Every foreigner must be jealous of her glorious future
If the politicians become a bit patriotic in nature
G2 spectrum is the greatest scandal in India of incredible magnitude
The politicians and the bureaucrats need to be complimented on their fortitude
Mother India is a benign Goddess of great treasure
She can withstand any arson , looting,robbery or exploitation beyond any measure
Dec 28, 2010
Dec 28, 2010 at 2:18 AM UTC
The smoker
I bought some rare cigars;
had them insured against fire
And by three months later
I’d lost them all
in a series of small fires
But the ****** insurance company
wouldn’t pay
so I sued them
The judge
I’ve looked at all the evidence
and I accept the cigars had been
indeed destroyed
by a “series of small fires”
and so I order
the company to pay the insured
the sum of $15 000
The insurance company
We paid - we didn’t
want a prolonged legal case;
but now we are taking the client
to court
as it’s clear through
the very evidence he submitted
he caused the “series of small fires”
The judge
I find the insurance
company’s former client
guilty of arson;
and furthermore I order that
the man serve prison
a year each for each count
and so, to make it clear,
to see past all the smoke:
that’s 24 years in jail for arson
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
when i crashed
into the forest floor
the canopy stretched high above me
i lit a match
i've been here before
but i can't tell reality from dream
some time has past
the earth grows quiet
i see your face ingrained in every tree
the ember burns
down to my callus
i want to watch it swallow you and me
why do i turn
my mind to fire
to mend my broken bones and restless brain
i want to burn
i want to blister
feel everything, and never feel again
instead i watch
the flame extinguish
surrender to the darkness with a prayer
instead i watch
the flame extinguish
the smell of sulfur permeates the air
Nov 24, 2021
Nov 24, 2021 at 11:05 AM UTC
This One Time,
I stripped naked
and ****** my couch.
This other time
I threw a copy of The Fountainhead
at an RV moving at 64 miles an hour
I have a tree
In the foothills
named Clementine Valencia Jeff
and the same day, me and John
made a religion with Adam based
on cloud formations
You see, I'm a weird guy
I got
I got problems
I see a therapist
Her name's Rhonda
She likes Batmaa aaaaan
She sees people worse than me
but recognizes I got problems
and she
she tries to help
cause
cause I got problems
and the
and the problem
with having problems
is
is function
You
You can't do anything
You live to defy expectation
And - and it's really hard
to get into college
You never really get accepted
and and
and even if
even if you do you
you
you never really accept that
It's hard out there for a freak
I get lost within my own
ridiculous quandaries
You feel like you're not
you're not built right
like something's wrong
and you just punch and
and kick and
and destroy
Whatever feels des-
destroy able because it gives
purpose
Bu
But I finally think I -I
found my mantra
My my
My compass thing
My map whatever
It has the same number of
letters of something very very dear
to me
and
and that holds meaning
I
I wrote it on the back of my door
my door
and- and I sprayed it on a
shirt
I actually got it from a videogame with
with a
with Ayn Randian themes
It's religious
and
and every night now
before I go to sleep
I
I- I look into Neil Patrick Harris's
eyes
feel the warmth of my wonderful blanket
admire some handiwork
read about serial arson
close my eyes and tell myself
She is our Salvation
Nov 6, 2011
Nov 6, 2011 at 2:05 PM UTC
An anarchist atom
Assaults the atmosphere
With anger and aerial arson
Bringing, begetting
Brutal and ****** battles
In my brain
Initiating chaos
With charges
Of chemicals.
A disection, distortion
Diversion of dedication
And direction
Causing eruptions
Emissions
Of erratic, electric elements
Of ego.
Ferocious fires form
In filaments, firmaments
Feeding the fantastic
Forces
Which grow and gain
In greatness in gravity
Grave, gory, gorgeous
Gloom.
Henceforth hidden horrors
Harrowed in a hollow heart
Instantly interact with
Intimate ideas
Initiating irregular, irrational
Irreversible
Irrelevant
Intimacy
Jealousy
Jumbling of jinxes
And laws of the jungle
For kicks
Leading to lies
Leaving love for loneliness
Loss.
A massive moral meltdown
In my mind
Negating, neutralising
normality
Orchestrates an open
Onslaught of order
And ordinary
People's principles
To pursue passion
And perfection
In a poetic periphery
Quite queer to some
And quaint to those
Not acquainted with
Rushes of ramblings
Received and reciprocated
Or radical ridicule
Of rascals.
Synapses send,
Signal every sinew
Simulating similar signs
But transmitting treacherous
Tingles
Teasing, trapping thoughts
In terror, temptations
To commit treason
Unforgivable, unforgettable
Us
Vivid and vibrant
But also very
Woeful
Wishing we were wild
And willing to walk
Our wishes make wonderful
Wells of
Youth
And creative zest.
Feb 24, 2013
Feb 24, 2013 at 11:09 AM UTC
1) 12 thousand tweets and none of them are substantial. They're becoming less and less about you though. Maybe that's what is substantial about them.
2) Something in the way you wrap sin in worship.
3) I'm an arson waiting to happen, is the funeral pyre really necessary?
4) Writing about you angrily isn't doing it anymore. I want to smash bricks through windshields that used to hold flowers I bought you.
5) Looks like you're not at the bottom of this one either. ****
6) My love has always been leprosy.
7) You're the interlude, not the chorus. But, that's okay I'm a terrible vocalist anyway.
8) She wants to date boys that are self aware and boy did she hit the jackpot.
9) You smile with the grace of grandmothers and I'm a bad boy like your grandpa after the War.
10) Can I cut out your grin and put in on the wall next to my framed poster of Bob Dylan and Charles Bukowski?
11) Trace my outline in chalk when I finally drink myself to sleep. I'm euthanizing the pieces of me that belong to you.
12) If I find you in Heaven won't you be in his arms? If I find you in Hell won't you be my torment?
13) You make me feel as insignificant as God does and I think that says something about prayer.
14) I quit paying my phone bill so I'd quit dialing your number like a suicide hotline.
15) My teeth are rotten like the lies that spill out of my teeth. You find me beautiful and I've never been more self-conscious.
16) Your silence fills my abdomen like daggers and words clot where crimson should flow.
17) Loving you is ************
18) My heart is at a crossroads and you're drowning in dust in the rearview mirror.
19) You prefer the subtle burns. The flames so hot they sever nerve endings when they lick your fingers the way I imagine I would.
20) She sings the body electric and I'm forced to worship her through computer screens and the scratch of needle on vinyl.
May 19, 2014
May 19, 2014 at 6:08 AM UTC
Have you seen me?
I'm missing.
In a little town,
that I've been around,
I've found the one
and only hole in hundreds
leading to a separate world
below.
Asphalt and all,
cold hearts,
nearly bare feet travel lengthy
streets, small in complaint.
Asphalt and all,
dead brains,
nearly there, but wrapped in
politic, fighting over what's real.
Have you seen me?
Apparently, I'm gone with no reason.
I've been around.
Everything is strange lines coming
out of nowhere, taking root as patterns,
meaning what you make it.
Asphalt and all,
**** brains,
nowhere near, but covered
in politic, fighting over what's real.
-- but I'm alive.
They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
All your brains can fight me,
fight their eyes.
They can fight me.
All they want to fight.
They can fight me.
-- but I'm alive.
I'm alive.
I'm alive.
I'm alive.
Fight me.
I'm smoking ****
diving into dreams,
barely leaving my house.
Come on, ***** fight me.
If your heart does so explode,
when your eyes cast sight on what you know
is abominable, then come and arson these
paper walls with me inside.
Fight me. Take the life.
-- but I existed.
I existed.
I existed.
Jan 9, 2019
Jan 9, 2019 at 3:01 PM UTC
Laughter at the pirate ship wreck
Incarcerated alibi.
Self-doubt and enemy envy.
Post neurosis mental chariot waiting patient set to test and task the palatial steel ballast.
Starting to startle itself awake according to twilight reporting recognized first and focused lazily to be remembered later for the first half percent.
Decent decline descending darkness ascending atoms attending arson. Gallant grey nose for cold weather bubbling wound **** streak pillow.
Plain sight eyes glazing reminiscent veteran folded over beer bottle drunk at home the unknown soldier.
Spirit spear piercing glowing nexus weightless flying high shadows vacant samurai clutch in an adjacent basement.
Bleeding bone fractured paper homes manufactured homeless jeering platelet picked and cast like a rune on your first born baby blanket.
Hallow, heated, grave displayed, and looped backwards.
Happy fishing!
Mar 26, 2013
Mar 26, 2013 at 7:56 AM UTC
She’s the spider on your shoulder
Holding you, cold and tight
She’s all eyes, slitted blue,
And the longest legs you’ve ever seen
With flaming locks of orange
Which burn brighter than the embers
Of bridges she’s destroyed in arson
And when she smiles, corner to wicked corner,
It’s not hallowed beeswax on her lips
Which gives them that crimson hue
She’s slow and steady wins the race
That your pounding heart
Is susceptible to losing to
Saccharine sweet with a smile to boot
She will have you licking hers
Steeped in honey, polite and courteous,
She spins you into her silken web
Not even of lies, but you fumble regardless
And then she eats you whole
Sep 17, 2019
Sep 17, 2019 at 8:31 AM UTC