"blowtorch" poems
Deceive me
Lie to me
**** with my head
On the edge of the cliff
Then you pull me to bed
Your love is a drug
*** with you gets me high
I’m a full blown ******
Makes no sense; don’t know why
You're an ever present torment
The fission laser splitting my mind
A jig-saw puzzle that was completed
Slowly each piece from each piece you unbind
Seductively you tear me down
Like the clothing you disrobe
A deer staring into headlights
I am frozen on the road
The weight of the world bearing down on me
As those focused beams get closer
Gladly I welcome them
Even though I’m not supposed to
Every rational thought I have
tells me how wrong you are for me
But they are drowned and muffled out
No more thoughts; keep your pennies
No sensible way to explain
Why I ******* love you so much
You’re a psychotic crazy *****
that I don’t want anyone else to touch
A blowtorch ignites a flame
A fire fierce and burning bright
Even though I know it will burn me
With all my gathered strength and might
All it takes from you is that look
You cast that Vampire’s gaze and grin
Instantaneously my defenses lowered
and you know you’ve ****** me in
Immerse myself into the flame
Intense pain; you melt my skin
Until pain I feel no more
I’m enveloped in your sin
And like a ****** choosing dope
Everyday, your sin I’ll take
I will gladly sell my soul
The most egregious of mistakes
A preying succubus appears
like a dreamy demoness
A world of dreams are turned to nightmares
Fills her needs for human flesh
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 10:39 PM UTC
Maybe I need to write about it maybe I need to talk about it maybe I need to take a breath and breathe for second stop choking for a second chill out and breathe and inhale and maybe smoke just a **** just twitch to itch my itch I’m acting like a *****
That’s what started this anyway
Breaking girl code I’m alone I’m in my car thinking I’ll head to a bar maybe the Starbucks stoop drive past my old group write a poem or two alone screaming of you under the lights with the bugs down the way from all the places we used to stay and smoke blunts hit joints argue **** mock me mock sred turn her backwords smoking backwoods what’d you put in my herb your conspiracy’s in my head
Play pool scream at me hit on my friends **** me don’t call for help it’s all fun and games tell me you want to **** my mind it’s all lies it’s all lies tell me why this devil has got my tongue tell me what are you this vampire you’ve come to steal me of it all my whole mind my whole soul not even my hairs no more I can’t dance I can’t sing the better half of me is terrified of life and why because I let you take advantage of me my things your life is a blowtorch to all good beings I’ll make you regret everything you’ve ever done I’ve tried to show you love you can’t see you’re disgusting the way you kissed my cheek when you head butted me I’m done
But I call a ***** on her **** and I’m wrong thought I lost my best friend for awhile for white feminism **** but I’m still a ***** a snitch I’m losing all my **** I’m spiraling into too nice of women undeserving of their friendship I owe my gs everything
But I can’t seem to do a thing
Jul 20, 2018
Jul 20, 2018 at 4:24 PM UTC
--Hand serenity manually entered
The automatic response system
Alerts red light blind blinking
Her excited isotopes fly, entropy askew
The 'A' stands for ready, willing and Able-bodied
Feather boa leather boy and scarlet adultery
Tucked neatly in the back of her dresser
Under bloomers and pictures of young baby boomers
--A civil masterpiece--
"I would love to," she says with a careless car crash
And a shaking ****** serial slave smile
Blowtorch full of propane and limp-action lidocaine
She cuts chronic through a slice of Hollywood layer cake
--Serves it skintight
Oct 28, 2011
Oct 28, 2011 at 6:57 PM UTC
I'm covered from head to toe in resin, acrylics and epoxy,
Some pulverized rocks my son gathered from the Chattooga River,
Now reduced to a burnt ember dust.
I added silicone sludge and a little baking powder as well,
And once mixed, this dicey concoction is beautifully toxic,
So I waft the air and inhale it.
Painting a colorful sunset is too easy, I prefer black and white,
So with a wooden board the size of a door,
I get to work with my rubber sledgehammer, blowtorch
A gallon of poison and flammable spray.
The passers by have seen this look in eyes,
From The Shining or possibly their preachers,
You know, the same look that's a sight to behold.
Slamming the hammer down with brute force
And purposed abandonment,
I paint my sunset and wrangle the stars later.
A shower won't do me justice>
Sep 18, 2018
Sep 18, 2018 at 12:15 AM UTC
flying laser concept
shooting down airplane
flashlights for cops
getting dissacsciative
instantly distroying
dazers on your car
weird sound things
warning warning
hit the brakes
it's not a deer
good ****
have you ever seen him?
Star wars kid?
The good 'ol days.
Before there was any kind of like...
I bet he's huge.
There he is.
**** can happen.
Expandable pole.
Destructive laser.
All talk, no walk.
Death rays.
Forget my blowtorch.
Let there be fire.
Let it rain.
Targeting him.
That's stupid.
**** this spider.
Did he?
Huge ******* spider.
Brightest spotlight ever.
Can't escape it.
Pretty good shot.
It's gonna die.
Choke it out.
Go to the end.
Sad.
**** a dog.
Hot in here.
People like motherhood.
Is that a ferret?
Don't drip on me.
Pennies on the floor.
Are you jealous?
I had a bad case.
Gotta get rockin'.
Something we both like.
Look at Harold.
I might be goin' down.
I've been goin' down.
People do the work.
Enable it.
Consume battery.
Bring it to a nine.
Should be easy.
Catchy and fitted.
Going viral.
Pyramid scheme.
I'm on the top.
The fastest.
The most accurate.
A community project.
It's a contest.
Easter eggs.
Enable fun times.
Enable opportunities.
Making it happen.
Shocking update.
It's getting there.
Few more sips.
Wooowww Wowww Wow.
Got 'em.
Sad day.
Pack up everything.
Say hi.
Bring her chocolate.
They like attention.
That **** ferret.
Sorry I got somber.
We got to be heroes.
Might be a good idea.
Nice seeing you.
Goodbye.
Au revoise.
Hard to say goodbye.
Concept of sleep.
Three all nighters.
One more thing.
Sweet dreams.
Bye.
Thanks.
Feb 5, 2013
Feb 5, 2013 at 12:33 AM UTC
If love is a fire,
this is a funeral pyre;
ashes falling
like nuclear winter.
Like a blowtorch,
*** had soldered us together--
I'm too paralyzed by fear
to hope for something more.
Only in the black of night do we see each other.
We barely speak
outside the foul-mouthed foreplay
and passionate epithets exchanged
in our sweat-soaked moments
of collective agony.
Like so much of my life,
this has to hurt to feel good.
A smack on the *** must suffice
when a kiss on the lips can **** you.
I don't dare look at her face.
There's so much I say
in spite of myself—
A litany of confessions
in my expressions.
Not that she would notice--
her eyes are outside,
aimed at a horizon I can't see.
We share this silence
because it's the only thing
either of us still cherishes.
Sep 20, 2012
Sep 20, 2012 at 12:25 AM UTC
What does wind think of the encampment on North 7th
as it moves under the overpass, the bright blue nylon riffling,
work shirts on a rope, the entry flap breathing,
an old man’s head bent over a chessboard, a rook tipping over?
What does wind know? Easy to say: nothing,
to say it knows nothing sweeping the day’s trash
down the avenue. The crawl says: fires in the West;
men with AR-15s; a mother and child face-down in the river;
children in cages; the rise of this, the fall of that.
We say the wind knows nothing as it drives fire like a blowtorch
across the land. We blame the grid, the lineman, the line,
though we know better. We say the rain inside the wind
knows nothing, as mud swallows houses, houses fall to sea,
floods push through cities, the ocean takes back land.
We say wind and rain know nothing. We say there’s nothing
to do. The wind passes through us and goes on.
A gust pushes in. A tarp snaps. A rook tips.
The old man uprights it, and waits for the next turn.
Aug 17, 2025
Aug 17, 2025 at 5:54 PM UTC
Listen,
I'm really sorry
for not finishing
the teleportation device
like I promised.
I've misplaced my blowtorch
& I really do ****
at whipping up blueprints.
[I hate numbers & measuring.
more than most things in life.
So please don’t make me.]
I realize it would be beneficial
for everyone
if I just buckled down
& made it happen;
if I didn't sleep for months
& somehow managed to
defy all principles
of space & time.
I'm a woman with gumption, see?
I could definitely do it.
But there's something
devilishly attractive
revolving around the idea
of being without
such an ultramodern convenience.
**Or maybe
I just revel in
making you
work for it.**
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 1:56 PM UTC
I nearly forgot my broken part
Till you took a blowtorch and cauterized my heart
You devastated me, with your art
Don't think of yourself as smart
In love my brain from my heart departs
I always put the horse behind the cart
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 11:03 AM UTC
The world wants delicate creatures
That never rust
When with the faintest vibration
They crumble into dust
So you can keep the fresh bouquets
Lined up on your bedpost
I'm happy just to be the mulch
That made the garden grow
She's Japanese and Cherokee
And whiter than a ghost
She'll pull your hair and scratch your back
She's quite the host
She's definitely not the type
For meat and potatoes
The broke-back boys and wig-haired girls
Are scratching their elbows
The world wants strong features
That never fade
When only a sliver of us
Ever hole that ace
So you can keep making time
While your soldiers make haste
I'll be the one with a blowtorch
In a vat of toxic waste
Nov 25, 2011
Nov 25, 2011 at 8:04 PM UTC
the hungry moon possesses a mysterious silver blowtorch
we burn in the neon deliverance of
reflected light
a baffling massacre of comprehension
this universe
that moon
a barbaric balloon billowing, bobbling
suspended, aching above city skylights
an orb filled with the cinders of everyone's
feverish dreams
this night has eaten our sun
in a sauce of stars and churning
cosmic milk
narcotic planetary stallions
galloping across the black vast
marbled table
of space
my bed a casket, my head an airpot
of dangerous fradulent circuitry and
rusted ginger
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 6:28 PM UTC
I nearly forgot my broken part
Till you took a blowtorch and cauterized my heart
You devastated me, with your art
Don't think of yourself as smart
In love my brain from my heart departs
I always put the horse behind the cart
Apr 25, 2016
Apr 25, 2016 at 10:51 AM UTC
Now I notice
how your eyes burn
blowtorch-blue
when you look at love
looking back at you.
they could cut
through iron bars;
set free
the wish to settle down,
caged within men like me.
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
chasing the boulder.
having looked before,
i looked again on my way,
past the laundry cottage
on the bend.
low tide indeed, no
**** up with the tide, sand
showing.
back along, slow and glance,
see the thing, reverse return.
standing proud, the wooden boulder,
david nash sculpture. me in dancing shoes,
the river bank deep mud.
i had to photograph it.
quite badly from a distance.
i will go again.
i liked the montbretia.
sbm.
** notes ( i have not written notes a while )
Montbretia
Crocosmia is a small genus of flowering plants in the iris family, Iridaceae. It is native to the grasslands of the Cape Floristic Region, South Africa. They can be evergreen or deciduous perennials that grow from basal underground corms.
**extra note
David Nash is known for works in wood and shaping living trees. His large wood sculptures are sometimes carved or partially burned to produce blackening. His main tools for these sculptures are a chainsaw and an axe to carve the wood and a blowtorch to char the wood.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 12:26 AM UTC
I've been hit by Life
She's ran me over twice;
Sometimes she can be nice,
A friend you call for free food.
But most of the time, it seems
She's that crazy ex outside your house
Wielding a blowtorch
Begging for you to make a wrong move
Nov 20, 2017
Nov 20, 2017 at 8:20 PM UTC
it's been a year
in other words,
i'm cold
in other words,
it's really quiet in this room
in other words,
nobody smiles at me anymore
in other words,
i've forgotten how sweet life can taste
in other words,
i'm lonely
in other words,
i'm scared of commitment and of communication but i haven't tried in such a long time that it might be worth it to try again
in other words,
i've reached out
in other words,
nobody has reached back
in other words,
all i see are
empty smiles,
polite gestures,
and shattered souls
i can see everyone else.
i can tell you which ones
are terrified,
which ones are broken,
and which ones are lost.
there are so few of them
that i can see it.
how are they genuinely okay
as their average sense of being?
am i the only one
that puts up this facade?
am i invisible?
can you see me?
it's been a year
since i've been kissed
or looked at
like i matter.
all i see is the emptiness,
but that may be my cloud diluting
the innocence of the many
and soaking up
the blood of the slaughtered-
can you see me?
i feel like i'm invisible.
i have to **** into conversations
because nobody would include me anyway,
i am a lost cause.
don't make me save you,
i ripped apart the last one.
don't make me feel you,
because i will just be torn away.
don't make me breathe you,
i will suffocate against your weight.
i'm an ice cube up against
a blowtorch,
but i'm not quite sure if
the blowtorch means it.
i'm wet sand
in a mold.
shape me however you like,
smooth me down to fit your ideals
but i will crumble,
and when that wave comes to find me
i will melt in its palms
and get sprinkled back onto
the bottom of the ocean
waiting to be found again.
call me a name
and i will become that name,
the letters will flow out of your lips,
falling like a river,
cool and untouched.
i will let myself drown.
it's been a year.
don't touch me
unless you mean it.
Jan 30, 2017
Jan 30, 2017 at 1:06 AM UTC
I nearly forgot my broken part
Till you took a blowtorch and cauterized my heart
You devastated me, with your art
Don't think of yourself as smart
In love my brain from my heart departs
I always put the horse behind the cart
Jan 28, 2016
Jan 28, 2016 at 11:15 AM UTC
The fireman there dressed in black
With a helmet hiding his shame
They've hidden their words from ageless sages
But he can smell their decaying pages
Spilled ink is old and unimportant they say
It's contagious pages are flammable
For one second he reads the ancient script
Mesmerized by ghosts from the crypt
He collects the books to earn his paycheck
Weeps silently behind his mask of lost humanity
Building a fire with his blowtorch
He's sickened by praise from his cohorts
He hangs his head in his pitifully gray home
and remembered his grandfather's Holy Bible
The hidden truth between the ancient lines
Truth that hangs from a broken spine
The talking faces from an electronic scroll
Hanging from the plastered wall
Repeats lies between razor blades
Invading lies buried within its rays
He keeps an eye on the glowing eye
That surveys his every move
The dark faceless ****** creeps into his life
Even as he sleeps beside his wife
He closes his eyes in search of his Creator
But He's hiding or busy or dead
There must be others who search like me
Who are praying for serenity
Mar 11, 2016
Mar 11, 2016 at 4:37 PM UTC
I wrote your name
onto my skin
with the permanent marker
of a razor.
And when you left...
I washed it away
from my body
with the cleansing power
of a blowtorch.
Aug 15, 2014
Aug 15, 2014 at 2:32 AM UTC
blowtorch the little creature.
I yelp in an already
soundless
fire.
the poor are a substitute.
name one thing
I can replace.
my father stuffed me in his coat
and biked me
to a park.
he biked away when a lady approached us waving.
the teeth on the zipper of his coat made me hum to myself.
he said jesus I’ll bet she eats ice cream with two hands.
mother didn’t lower her voice because mother didn’t raise it.
flatness is a landmark.
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 4:22 PM UTC
“Breathe, Exhale, Breathe”
I had the words to this poem
In my mind at some point
Before I breathed them all out
One at a time
Uncontrollably
I’m trying to turn on light bulbs
By setting the filament ablaze
And drying my hair with a blowtorch
Doesn’t seem like such a bad idea
If red is the color of fire
And blue is the color of water
It’s really no surprise that
My favorite color is purple
Inside my mind there is a lake
Clear, calm, undisturbed
Reflecting the unmoving clouds
In the overcast sky
I walk around with my head down
Hiding under an umbrella
Pockmarked by the bullets
That it didn’t block
It never lets the sunshine in
Only the rain
If people are so scared of the cold
The heat, the rain, the hail
The storms and the snow
The wind and the night
Why am I terrified of the walls
And the ceiling in my room?
If I were drowning in the ocean
Instead of screaming for help
Or swimming to the nearest shore
I’d probably try to run away from the problem
I’d never want to be a cartographer
I drew a map of my mind once
It’s a little circle in the middle
The rest scribbled out by permanent marker
For the places I haven’t explored
There’s ash on my hands
From trying to dig out the memories
That weren’t set ablaze
By the thoughts in my mind
I don’t know where I went
It’s somewhere mixed in
With the rough carbon copies
That I keep for reference
In the depths of my subconscious
My mind’s eye has gone colorblind
All my thoughts are black and white
The grey reprieves the monotony
Until I start to think about it too much
And rip up the canvas
On days like today it feels like
I fell asleep behind the steering wheel
Years and years ago
And slipped off into an unpleasant dream
Where I’m still alive
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
I'm always good, I have to be
People don't care,
Otherwise
But whatever, the corneal pain will speak on behalf
I know life's a ***** but there's always help
The best remedy comes from Maryland
And it's a big, tall glass of beer
Yet I settle for wet potato skins on my eyelids
Because drinking brings out the monster in me
That's when people care
But yeah, I've woken up with sand in my eyes
There's always a first, and you're new so you'll be next
I'll be running at you with a blowtorch
Just waiting to make contact
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 7:09 PM UTC
flame rose, stick of narrow
possibilities. orange flare
blue core
blackens oak splinter
fingers warm
sap absent
bending spine, a rounded tip,
carbon residue.
burn or extinguish. head splits
ashes glow, table glass & micro
blowtorch. moths left &
specks of grey
reflect in
a single ray of sun
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 8:24 AM UTC
I don’t let people that put me down be part of my life.
Gardens and trees,
My shadow sunk in the grass in my yard
As I ate bread, turmeric and lemon.
Carbon crystallizes into graphite flakes.
I write to see well,
Graphite on paper.
A shadow on rock tiles with a shield, a diamond and a bell
Had me ***** to humiliate me.
Though I don’t let people that put me down near me,
A lot of people putting me down seemed like they were following me,
A platform to jump from
While she had her temple.
There was a pink door to the platform.
I ate bread with caramelized crusts and
Drank turmeric lemonade
Before I opened that door,
Jumped and
Descended into blankets and feathers.
I found matches and rosin
For turpentine to clean,
Dried plums and licorice.
In the temple,
In diamonds, leather, wool and silk,
She had her shield and bells,
Drugs and technology,
Thermovision 210 and Minox,
And an offering box where people believed
That if their coins went in
Their wishes would come true.
Hollyhock and smudging charcoal for work,
Belled,
I ground grain in the mill for the bread I baked for breakfast.
The bells are now communal bells
With a watchtower and a prison,
Her shield, a blowtorch and flux,
Her ex rays, my makeshift records
Because Stalin didn’t like people dancing,
He liked them divebombing.
Impurities in the carbon prevent diamonds from forming,
Measured,
The most hard, the most expensive,
But graphite’s soft delocalized electrons move.
May 25, 2021
May 25, 2021 at 7:17 PM UTC