"fireproof" poems
Thank you for breaking me
And making me
A better me
Thank you for hurting me
And making me
A stronger me
Thank you for shooting me
And making me
Bulletproof
Thank you for burning me
And making me
Fireproof
Mar 10, 2014
Mar 10, 2014 at 9:48 PM UTC
I cradle hurricanes in my ribcage
while words swirl around my head.
I try to catch the good ones-
but mostly, I wish I was dead.
I do everything too much-
the joy, the sorrow, the dread.
Yet somehow, I’m never enough-
what a curious truth to be force fed.
If I laugh, it’s always too loud;
my mouth too sharp to make anyone proud.
Crying is a dangerous game,
I could sob away a city, drown in the blame.
My rage leaves no survivors,
as if I line people up on personal pyres.
When I vent, they hear preaching-
a sermon no one wants, a fear of my leeching.
I don’t love, I dissect-
obsessively search for the trap I expect.
I can’t just leave; I burn it all down-
the bubbly, funny girl wears a permanent frown.
I do too much and my inner child feels seen,
She's acting out, we aren't this mean
I just get scared when the vibe is off, and ruining the mood makes the blow more soft.
Despite the chaos I still crave love, an equal partner, wearing fireproof gloves.
Jun 20, 2025
Jun 20, 2025 at 12:18 AM UTC
So familiarize what having to swallow this pill is like
It happens all the time, they take your heart and steal your life
And it's as though you feel you've died because you've been killed inside
But yet you're still alive which means you will survive
Although today you may weep because you're weak and
Everything seems so bleek and hopeless
The life that you're seeking, it begins to seep in
That's the only thing keeping you from leaping off the motherfreaking deep end
And I'm pulling for you to push through this feeling
And with a little time that should do the healing
And by tomorrow you may even feel so good that you're willing
To forgive them even after all that **** you been put through.
This feeling of resilience is building.
And the flames are burning quick as fire would.
Through this building. you're sealed in
But you're fireproof, flame retardant, you withstood it.
And as you climb up to the roof, you're just chillin' and you look down
'Cause you're so over them you could put the heel of your foot through the ceiling.
As time passes, things change everyday
But wounds, wounds heal
But scars still remain the same
But tomorrow today's goin' down in flames
Throw the match, set the past ablaze
So feel the fire beneath your feet
As you barely even perspire from the heat
Exhale deep and breathe a sigh of relief
And as you say goodbye to the grief
It's like watching the walls melt in your prison cell
But you've extinguished this living hell
Still a little piece of you dies, you scream..
Jan 12, 2015
Jan 12, 2015 at 9:35 AM UTC
There is a history, could be called their story,
But the clouds,
To the dirt beneath,
Their finger nails,
All were lined in silver,
Or other precious metals,
Smelted with treasured memories,
Weaving silver through all,
The storms, along every cloud,
Each raindrop and teardrop too,
They labored,
In veins of mineral mines,
They smelted iron ore,
Got more troy ounces then they
Bargained for, by the millions,
Gold and silver for those linings,
Precious and semi-precious metals,
From deep holes in the ground,
To a furnace that evaporated sweat,
Under the fireproof suits, they worked hard,
Honestly while wearing protective lenses and
Not rose coloured glasses, it was a good life,
Memories and faded glory days,
Until the Company, took it away, bit by bit,
Leaving,
Flame but little glory,
To those special days,
And bygone days,
There are still a few,
Who survived modernization,
There are many more,
Whose best memory,
Is the pension,
Crew mates are gone,
Spouses are gone,
Yet the special days,
Are celebrated anyways,
In the Silver City,
That joy is almost,
Tangible, to when,
Generations of men,
Went home to their women, children
Broke bread, drink vino and shots of grappa,
Sharing day shift or afternoons,
And graveyard shifts during the boom,
Today many years later, more than 100,
Now the fireworks light the night-sky,
While figments of the past, stand shoulder,
To shoulder, with those who remain,
Shared memories of silver linings.
May 12, 2013
May 12, 2013 at 1:05 AM UTC
~
Look at this girl
With wildfire eyes,
Beautiful flames
That will burn you alive.
Look at this girl,
A tornado in skin.
She tears through hell
With a bone chilling grin.
You think you know
That she’s numb to the pain,
That novocaine
Somehow runs through her veins,
But her wildfire eyes
Hold tales she won’t tell.
Her bone-chilling grin
Is just to spite hell.
You’ve become passive,
So absently blind.
Her fiery facade
Has convinced you she’s fine.
But her wildfire eyes
Can’t relieve her lament.
Her bone chilling grin
Can’t change hell’s torment.
She’s dying alive
As the fires of hell churn.
She’s not fireproof,
And she feels every burn.
This girl that you see,
And her wildfire eyes?
They’re beautiful flames,
That burn her alive.
~
May 17, 2021
May 17, 2021 at 10:09 PM UTC
buy me on the black market like the instability I am.
watch me hurtle through negative space backwards,
the planet-wide catastrophe of a sun-sized storm in me.
Call me Carbon-14.
it’s the latest piece of my galaxy-sized identity, another chemical
small enough to wage nuclear war.
you’re witnessing my radioactive decay,
the deterioration of everything I used to be into
everything I might be,
a kind of reaction that happens when one of my ‘downs’
becomes an ‘up,’
no aces up my sleeves or full houses of face cards in spades,
but I’ve got straight sevens,
protons neutrons electrons, carbon to nitrogen.
beta decay, the mass production of passive procrastination;
second in command, sidekick sidetracking heroes.
Call me Nitrogen standard 14.
watch me decay into the air that you breathe,
seventh most common gas in the Milky Way galaxy,
keeping things fresh and stainless like my steel armor,
try and make me combust but I’m fireproof, bulletproof,
balanced and on my toes in a defensive position,
fists raised for the fight that you’re going to put up.
my axis is more stable than yours. step into the rings of saturn,
ring the bells to start the rounds, champion takes home the stars,
wraps orion’s belt around their waist and buckles it tight with nuclear waste.
everyone loves an underdog story, but only when they know,
positively, that the underdog will win.
with you and me, it’s a 50/50 on who exactly has the upper hand
and who exactly is going to win, but I’ll make bets with the elements around me,
the carbon that I used to be hashing out 20’s and oxygen
claiming she’s not one for gambling.
baby, you’re in my lungs, you’re in my corner of the ring.
she’ll slip in a 50 like my chances, and I’ll pretend that I don’t notice.
phosphorus is too fiery to root for me,
he’s more of a heavyweight believer than me.
Call me contagious
when my knuckles bloom across your jaw and knock away
all of your sensibility, stability, bruises like moons
as the mirror shatters every reflection of who I used to be.
Call me Carbon-14, but know that I am radioactive,
actively changing, reigning champion of breaking perceptions,
and you’re just the impression of the death that I’m carbon-dating.
Dec 27, 2015
Dec 27, 2015 at 11:43 PM UTC
YES, the Dead speak to us.
This town belongs to the Dead, to the Dead and to the Wilderness.
Back of the clamps on a fireproof door they hold the papers of the Dead in a house here
And when two living men fall out, when one says the Dead spoke a Yes, and the other says the Dead spoke a No, they go then together to this house.
They loosen the clamps and haul at the hasps and try their keys and curse at the locks and the combination numbers.
For the teeth of the rats are barred and the tongues of the moths are outlawed and the sun and the air of wind is not wanted.
They open a box where a sheet of paper shivers, in a dusty corner shivers with the dry inkdrops of the Dead, the signed names.
Here the ink testifies, here we find the say-so, here we learn the layout, now we know where the cities and farms belong.
Dead white men and dead red men tested each other with shot and knives: they twisted each others' necks: land was yours if you took and kept it.
How are the heads the rain seeps in, the rain-washed knuckles in sod and gumbo?
Where the sheets of paper shiver,
Back of the hasps and handles,
Back of the fireproof clamps,
They read what the fingers scribbled, who the land belongs to now-it is herein provided, it is hereby stipulated-the land and all appurtenances thereto and all deposits of oil and gold and coal and silver, and all pockets and repositories of gravel and diamonds, dung and permanganese, and all clover and bumblebees, all bluegrass, johnny-jump-ups, grassroots, springs of running water or rivers or lakes or high spreading trees or hazel bushes or sumach or thorn-apple branches or high in the air the bird nest with spotted blue eggs shaken in the roaming wind of the treetops-
So it is scrawled here,
"I direct and devise
So and so and such and such,"
And this is the last word.
There is nothing more to it.
In a shanty out in the Wilderness, ghosts of to-morrow sit, waiting to come and go, to do their job.
They will go into the house of the Dead and take the shivering sheets of paper and make a bonfire and dance a deadman's dance over the hissing crisp.
In a slang their own the dancers out of the Wilderness will write a paper for the living to read and sign:
The dead need peace, the dead need sleep, let the dead have peace and sleep, let the papers of the Dead who fix the lives of the Living, let them be a hissing crisp and ashes, let the young men and the young women forever understand we are through and no longer take the say-so of the Dead;
Let the dead have honor from us with our thoughts of them and our thoughts of land and all appurtenances thereto and all deposits of oil and gold and coal and silver, and all pockets and repositories of gravel and diamonds, dung and permanganese, and all clover and bumblebees, all bluegrass, johnny-jump-ups, grassroots, springs of running water or rivers or lakes or high spreading trees or hazel bushes or sumach or thornapple branches or high in the air the bird nest with spotted blue eggs shaken in the roaming wind of the treetops.
2k
there's blood on my hands, and
liquor on your tongue
this is what true love tastes like
****** in the pews
you are ash exhumed and i'm a lit match
cigarette firepower burning bodies in front of churches
crying holy, holy
are you scared yet?
stars in your eyes, in the palms of your hands
kissing the corpse road
breaths scraping against your ribcage on the way out
someone else's hands in your throat on the way down
crying holy, holy
i want fireproof lungs i want
flowers planted in my eyesockets
make me a garden like no other
oh god, oh god
im coughing up leaves and twigs and
grave markers
(you have a flair for the dramatic
used to hold up pictures of my bleeding gums and say,
you're so beautiful
am i beautiful now, sweetheart?are you?
can you face yourself in the mirror, sweetheart?)
stop it, stop screaming,
you aren't a holy verse
twenty dead roses on a empty coffin, and
four horsemen of the apocalypse, and
death at the bottom of a swimming pool
crying holy, holy
Oct 11, 2014
Oct 11, 2014 at 2:27 PM UTC
When the thieves broke in,
They broke my mother’s heart,
They broke my naiveté,
They broke my maternal lineage,
By making her closet bare,
She stood barely recognizing it,
Stared at her safe,
Her
Bulletproof
Fireproof
Apocalypse proof
Safe
Code c r a c k e d,
Deadbolt door eerily open.
“It’s just jewelry,” she muttered,
[Passed down from one generation to the next,
Dating back to an invaded India,
Surviving six hundred soldiers,
Smuggled within folds of saris through seas,
Stories etched in souvenir gold].
“At least we’re all safe,” she stated with conviction.
[Yet I couldn’t help but feel,
A physical furthering,
From my immigrant ancestors,
Who passed along secrets with every pendant,
Who whispered hopes in every ornate hairpin,
Who stored their aspirations in every accumulation:
Real riches knit with poetic prospers from the past].
How funny
To imagine the thieves
Pricing a priceless object --
Ironically making it worthless
Because the burglary left behind
The heritage.
Jul 30, 2013
Jul 30, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
*the feminine powerlessness of art, and the then again strict rubric of Darwinism's dictatorial regime to talk cool - sieg heil throughout, as a running honk! honk! (joke) on the sly.*
a testimony to high school:
don't ever listen to The Smiths
or The Cure, or Depeche Mode....
or any of my uncle's **** list...
the point being,
you can swagger among
Eucalyptus trees and feed the frenzy
like any Ibiza patron might;
cos' there's a koala rummaging
your drawers so to speak:
due to an episode of king's testicles
in the attic - hey presto!
a grand piano! hey presto! coronation's
fireproof underwear!
lovey dubby dub dub, and a coercive
test for nibbling on a Maltese ginger...
dabbling the fearsome offence...
the only school Morrissey attended was nostalgia.
Jun 16, 2016
Jun 16, 2016 at 9:49 PM UTC
your floor is ******* filthy.
i can hear you in the background behind me
saying my name the way you curse
hold it in your mouth, hot
spit it out
watch it burn,
embers flying through the smallest gap in your teeth.
you stare hard at me,
maybe to see where the sparks catch
hoping one lands on my face
or in my eye,
whichever will move my gaze from the floor
to you.
but i can't.
i'm still looking at your gross ******* carpet.
it's all i can focus on,
a stained oriental with crunchy grey tassels
that i can only assume used to be white.
i'd like to ask you about it,
but it's not my turn for questions.
i'm not sure if i'll even get one
before the curtains catch flame.
so i sit there,
silent, fireproof
waiting for you to finish using
each and every wrong
ever done against you
as kindling
for the anger you feel towards me.
i think it upsets you
that i can't get burned anymore,
but you still sit
white hot,
ashen gray rings around your eyes
asking why i just won't catch.
you're breathing smoke from your nostrils,
but you're no dragon.
you're a book,
451 pages of relation
and situationships
and drunk texts
and missed calls
from cleaning ladies
and therapists,
angered that you
ever caught spark
from my ashes
and burned.
Dec 28, 2022
Dec 28, 2022 at 12:33 PM UTC
I am not fireproof
Be careful how you burn me
With your words of hate
Torch my clothes of confidence
Hiding my insecurity
With your words of ignorance
That singe the self-esteem
I've been building for years
Hot as hell, words are more powerful
than sticks or stones.
Words can save a life in the
furnace of friendship.
Words can destroy a life with the
wildfire of loose tongues.
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 3:00 PM UTC
Beautiful
Is a colorless flower
If I am to use it
Describing you
The wordsmiths
Must work well
Into the night
Smithing away
Until morning light
To find a word
Suiting your definition
Unearthing
Is a waterless brook
If used to convey the look
Radiating from your enchanting eyes
The same that left my heart wounded today
When you used them to drill to the core of me
No doubt making a profound discovery
Love
Is overused and clichéd to ruin
Much too pedestrian to capture what you found
When drilling deep into my underground
Without a sound it happened
That word we can’t use
Due to its short and burnt up fuse
Turned on its light this afternoon
And in a magic moment we both knew
That beautiful, unearthing, love
Built a bridge between us
Founded in truth
Always open and fireproof
Today around 2 o’clock
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 10:44 PM UTC
We’re hiding in the dark.
Trying hard to survive this.
Waiting to see the light.
I can feel us breaking.
He’s close to the edge.
I’m constantly worrying about him.
Wondering what will break him.
Will it be the fans?
Will it be the paparazzi?
Will it be the lying?
Will it be the hiding?
I despise having to hide.
I want to be free.
I want to love him.
But they say I can’t.
They say that it’s wrong.
They say it’ll ruin everything.
They make us hide instead.
Lying to our loved ones.
Lying to our loyal fans.
We give them hints daily.
The tattoo’s should be enough.
The compass guiding the ship.
The arrow through the heart.
The rope holding my anchor.
The “Oops” to my “Hi”
The bird to my cage.
But apparently it’s not enough.
They still don’t see us.
Our shared stares on stage.
The wanted and needed touches.
The playful banter that disappeared.
Ones who believe gets blamed.
The tweets should be enough.
“I miss you too sweetcheeks”
“I’ll meet you poolside pumpkin”
“And don’t forget my armbands”
“Always in my heart @Harry_Styles.”
“Yours sincerely Louis.” Not enough.
I wonder what it’ll take.
Trying hard to be ourselves.
It’s hard when we’re watched.
It’s hard following their orders.
Our dreams have faded.
The flashes have dulled them.
They’re still there but barely.’
He looks up at me.
Eyes are kept wide open.
“Please don’t let me go .”
“I’m tired of feeling alone.”
“I’m tired of sleeping alone.”
My arms are wide open.
I’ll hold him close tonight
We make promises for forever.
We remember the easy times.
When we loved not hid.
We laugh at old movies.
We slept closer than ever.
He sleeps while I think.
I’ll make us okay again.
The day will come soon.
Where we can love openly.
When we won’t hide away.
When they’ll finally realize.
We’ll always love each other.
No matter what they do.
But until that day comes.
I’ll bring him the stars.
I’ll watch him from afar.
Trying to make them understand.
Because I know we’re fireproof.
And I know we can survive.
Because he makes me strong.
And he’s all I need.
May 8, 2015
May 8, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
I am never gonna change my mind,
Try to torch me and you'll find,
You can't turn me or deter me,
No matter how you try:
You can't burn me.
Nov 23, 2014
Nov 23, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
Through the fence, we slipped,
scratched and torn,
but the world behind us
was nothing—
this was ours.
Rubber giants piled high,
a kingdom built from wreckage,
the smell of earth and metal
mixing with the air we claimed.
We whispered our plans,
wild as the grasshoppers we caught—
sting and laughter tangled together
as we spun tales of escape.
The owner’s anger didn’t faze us,
her shouts just wind
against the roar of our hearts.
We built our thrones
in crooked trees,
a couch our crown,
leaning like a dream too big to stand.
The go kart didn’t run,
but we rode it anyway,
down the hill that should’ve swallowed us whole,
laughing at danger,
at the world that couldn’t keep up.
Bruised and broken,
we held each other,
fighting wars we couldn’t win
except here,
in the tire club.
In this space,
we were never less than fierce,
our bond woven
with the secrets we kept
and the mischief we shared.
A sacred place—
where the world outside couldn’t touch us,
where we were fireproof,
surviving everything
but the burn of our own laughter.
Mar 17, 2025
Mar 17, 2025 at 5:23 PM UTC
But it's not.
Most of it is in my muscles that refuse to move anymore
Deadweight, simple pain pulling like gravity is its mother
Some of it is in my burning lungs that don't understand how much I want to keep going
I don't want to die here
I don't want them to find my collapsed body with a stopwatch marking a nine minute mile
Some of it is in my broken sneakers and ripped clothes because this isn't my first show
I've been here before
I fully understand the heavyheartedness of sweat stains that scream longevity and socks that I might as well throw away
But I will see that gym tomorrow
My body will burn and burn and I will burn with it
But there's a fireproof lining around my head
Of course it's not all in my head
My head is the one thing keeping my feet hitting the ground every beat of the music
Or picking up the weights at 6 am
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 6:50 PM UTC
I need you to stop looking at me as if i were a burning building with no windows open.
today when i woke up, i finally broke free
I no longer hear your voice in my ear
or reminisce the memory of your fingertips on my skin.
Lately ive been thinking that all my life has been till now is an empty bed and i am now just buying sheets, blankets, and pillows.
Love, i used to believe you were the best parts of me
but now i realized without you, i am so much better
you no longer have the be afraid that you'll break me
because this time
i'm rebuilding myself
with shatterproof glass and fireproof walls
i know some days i will probably miss you more than breathing and life itself
but it has taken three winters to get here
and i am not turning back
i cant...
Oct 13, 2013
Oct 13, 2013 at 10:38 AM UTC
you told me I don't have to be okay all the time
you told me you still loved me no matter what
its hard because I want to believe you
god, I want to trust it so badly
but every time I've put the walls down
lay down my defense
the only thing i've been left with is
ash in the wake
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 12:39 PM UTC
I was given a new heart tonight
trying something new
I've had so many hearts in one life
I'm hoping this next one will do
I was born with a heart of crystal
so innocent, so pure
until one day it slipped and fell
and shattered upon the floor
So I was given a heart of plastic
one that wouldn't break
but I met that adolescent heartthrob
who's fire melted my heart away
After heartache's call came my heart of granite
it's fireproof after all
until it chipped and cracked and started to split
when adult life came to call
I bought myself a heart of diamonds
so sharp, so strong
was gonna cut my way through this life
but I cut till all was nigh gone
Depression brought me a gift, a heart of stone
heavy and cold, it felt fake
I kicked that heart while I walked along
until I ran into a lake
I skipped my heart across the lake, but I should'a known
your love ran too wide
and your touch ran too deep to skip this stone
And now that is why
I was given a new heart tonight
I'm hoping this one will do
Its soft and comfortable and feels alright
Because it was given by you
Sep 2, 2011
Sep 2, 2011 at 10:39 PM UTC
It might hit you all at once, or a little by little. It’s best if the former happens, because feeling nothing is worse than feeling something.
It starts with a dull pain in the abdomen (science can’t explain this) and it intensifies once you have fully made sense of the situation.It is like a gas stove, with varying sizes of flames, big and small. It burns now, and you feel extreme discomfort throughout your torso.
You want to lie down, to tear your heart out and wash it thoroughly with iced water, because the fires burning inside of you are too hot to bear. But, once you do lay yourself down, the screaming starts, and your vision blurs. Hot tears escape your eyes and it doesn’t stop there. Pillows are thrown across the room and before you know it, your frail body is sprawled out on the floor in a mess of arms, legs, blood and more tears.
You’d think that staying the same way for the whole night is a good thing to do; lying on the bed you once shared with the cause of your torment is too torturous to bear. But, you’d tire of crying before long and eventually you’re fast asleep on the soft bed, under layers and layers of thick quilts.
However, when you awaken, the feelings start again, and you are unable to walk. You are on your bed for the whole day for what seems like eternity to you.
After a month or so of nightly wails, you’ll wake up one day feeling none of that ******** The fires will have been extinguished by then and everything will be fine.
You are fire-proof once more.
(lunarlullubies)
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 7:10 AM UTC
Heaven is a scorching volcano somewhere,
Where everyone lives in fireproof bubbles,
Watching and laughing at those who burn,
And not doing a thing to stop it.
But holy are they, who pop their bubbles,
And smolder for what they know is right,
Because honor is not given out of obligation or fright,
But to those who are destroyed by the might their fight.
Nov 18, 2011
Nov 18, 2011 at 1:03 PM UTC
Let's stop mid-scream and steal a moment of sanity
Hold on to your vanities, your profanities
Let me help
Let me tell you a story
'Tis grim and gory
Follow me home, follow me home
Make me feel unsafe
Make me feel like prey
In this jungle of concrete and brick
Your judgements are bullets
With eyes for triggers
**** me.
Intentions, retentions, preventions
Our sinful innocence will be the end of us
We walk into burning buildings
Yet we are not fireproof
We have never been
Fireproof.
Nov 11, 2017
Nov 11, 2017 at 4:15 AM UTC
His tales of a place he once called home, now reduced to ruins and smolder, carry a weight he has become accustomed to straining the muscles of his back against. He keeps postcards in his wallet, folded and creased in the center to the point of perforation, pulls them out when he is homesick or when anyone asks about his origins, always tucks them back into the pocket with more spite than he cares to portray. Most observers simply nod their head, "how beautiful it is," –was– "you're lucky to have been a part of it." He smiles, the genuine kind of smile that takes precise attention to detail and years of practice to counterfeit, says "I know." Some bold and curious or ignorant and inconsiderate listeners poke their furrowed brows into his upturned palms, ask him, "did you see the fire?" They want to know –must know– if he could smell the smoke from the next town over, if he could see the sky illuminated in the distance, the red hue seeping into the blue-black night, they want to know how big it was, a house fire or a holocaust, if he tried to put it out or if he stood idle, looked for faces in the flames, if it left anything but charred floorboards and fireproof safes, the combinations written on scraps of paper now insignificant. You can see him fuming from across the room, his face illuminated, the red hue dripping down his neck, his voice becomes victim, tries to keep it steady but you can see losses on his tongue, he trails off into silence, leaves nothing but stubbed toes and sentiments, "I'm sorry I asked." When he talks about the people he knows –knew– there, he always starts with a chuckle, a little grin as if something had just reminded him of them, they were all kids back then, his eyes turn child again while he talks about how they played in the storm drains and then he snaps them shut, remembers the cigarette butts, remembers the lighters they bought at the drug store, how they had loved to see things burn until they couldn't stop it. He talks about this place he used to call home, doesn't know what to call it anymore.
Mar 23, 2015
Mar 23, 2015 at 11:24 PM UTC
Well here i am, done being victim
Of thicker than bricks people who just won't listen
This is me letting go, final words
This is me breaking this ******* curse
When you try to help like the Fox to the Snake
Trust misplaced realising too late
Turned around and bit me like wait
I knew it all along now i know the game
Play on your mind and run it over
Like they always drunk driving don't know sober
Hopeless when again he told me so
I never learn coz i hold out hope!
Curtain calls I'm releasing the rope
Turned it into a noose this crow could choke
Liked to hear my pain when i turn insane
Over the fact that neither of us can really let go
I know you know i dont make mistakes twice
Reinforced by the fact that he wished suicide
Except I'm smart don't be a ******
Eminems words become something that hits real hard!
Asking for advice and i try to play nice
You played ***** and i tried that thrice
Told him about how i tried the knife
Can't keep your mouth shut so you run it like strife
Is all you cause my pain cause and effect
The effect you had slowly turned negative
Now we're back to strangers, these words are saviours
And steer me clear of **** these top notch sailors!
Well the streets are flowing with slick spilled blood
Tsunami on the road causing a flood
You can't see at all you'd probably run
Into it like you do with drama for fun!
Well this **** is over, twas a good game
Insane you brought out but huh well played
Made me doubt my reasons to stay
Made me doubt twice now I've run away
All i ever did never once said thanks
Smelt the poison a mile off that **** smells rank
Ranked among the stupid that had such faith
Can't stop you sinking i came too late
I did so much for what little it was worth
Like Linkin Park I'm breaking this curse
Smash old habits, rap like a rabbit
Reach for the door, turn this handle I'm grabbing!
Huh, but i guess you'll never learn
That my mind is energy that makes me burn
So these fireproof gloves handle flaming doves
I'm a Phoenix ************ and you get no love
Nov 2, 2017
Nov 2, 2017 at 4:38 AM UTC