"flammable" poems
You are
delicious
And I am
greedy.
You are
generous
And I am
needy.
You are
experienced
And I am
learning.
You are
flammable
And I am
burning.
Sep 9, 2010
Sep 9, 2010 at 1:51 AM UTC
#STICK’EM UP with LIQUID NAILS
DANGER ! EXTREMELY FLAMMABLE
See Other Caution on Back Panel:
I’m hot for you Cowgirl – you’re so flammable my glue-gun starts to melt; my screwdriver starts twisting when you loosen that low-slung belt. You make me feel like laying re-bar in a freshly-poured foundation. Shoot me up with that caulk gun baby – I need you like salvation. Ten and one-half fluid ounces – pull off your top, pop a love-cap in me. Fingerin’ your trigger while the job is gettin’ bigger so take me for a ride to the hardware store, honey, cause I’m seeing red and feeling white on your golden background’s sheer delight. Hammer me a heart-full, spike me on a cross of blonde, I’m hanging ten, surfing the tube of your magic wand. I’ve been in love ever since I first waterproofed my seamy undersides with you… stand over me in those red, red boots, you Liquid Nails Girl – and from your pure white Stetson let righteousness unfurl. You won the shoot-out long before you even drew, my dear. Lost hope of the Wild West, Final Frontal Feminine Frontier – there’s only one side of you… your GOOD side. Just one look and your fearless gaze silences the foes, my blooming prairie rose.
YEE – HAW ! Be my angel, be my dream, my valentine rodeo queen, be my bodyguard, my therapist, long & tall & hard & wet – be my Liquid Nails Girl forever and I’ll ride right into your sunset…
Sep 10, 2015
Sep 10, 2015 at 9:28 PM UTC
Burnt adolescence, the smell of survivors
The satiric regime beholds.
White-gloved landlords, picking at grapefruit
By what means was this chapter told?
By a pigheaded guerilla lad
In a trench coat and top hat
With an ego to the distance of the sun
Alcohol is flammable
To the ones with sharpened mandibles
For myself, it was all jolly good fun
Jun 17, 2012
Jun 17, 2012 at 12:38 AM UTC
*I wish I could be enough for you,
I wish I could be your other half
I wish I could please you beyond
the measure of just friends
I wish I could be on your mind
like my sad image in your eye
and the succulent apple of your eye
I wish I could be close to
your soul as I'm usually close to you
I wish I could touch your heart
like I touch your hand
I wish you could also tremble
in my unnoticed presence
I wish the thought of me
could make you sick in my absence
I wish I was as handsome
as he is, with the cash he has
I wish I could also show up
driving myself in the posh cars
I wish I wasn't a tattered
fabric with patches of scars
I wish I amazed you like a
clear night sky filled with stars
I really wish so much,
I wish you could read my mind
and see the million words left
buried, the emotions left behind
I wish I could be the first and last
thought as you sleep and wake
I wish the little I have to give was
the much you crave to take
I wish you could believe when
I say these feelings started at hello
that I die subduing my passion
threatening to overflow
as soon as I set eyes on your
beautiful breathtaking face
you would laugh at how
nervous my heart loses pace
I wish I had the qualities
you are looking out for
a height, light skinned, courageous,
and quite physically fit
but I lack such a physic, those
qualities are embedded
within the core of my invisible
self, a person you can't see
I wish you knew that your presence
throws me in an ecstasy
I wish you knew that I have
burning flames of desire
fueled by my highly flammable
affection which you inspire
I wish you could consider someone
like me,maybe I would reveal
but even if I do you can never
give me an opportunity
I'd make a double loss, swallowing
my pride, that bitter pill
you can't bear someone like me...
you never will
yet I still find myself wishing
you could for real
albeit I too would never
waste your valuable time
dragging you through this
hell of my boring life
I wish I was something more
than a lover of rhyme
maybe then I'd stand a chance
of calling you "Wife"
I wish things were different,
I wish you could know
how much I wish I could be
someone deserving of you
I do, I wish I could be more*
May 13, 2016
May 13, 2016 at 3:05 PM UTC
I think I can relate you to vinegar.
Bitter, noxious, not very useful all alone.
I don't think I warned you,
but I'm a lot like bleach.
Caustic, corrosive, flammable,
and absolutely wonderful with the right material.
Now, put us together.
Were we both so stupid not to realise
that vinegar and bleach
make toxic chlorine gas?
Mar 16, 2015
Mar 16, 2015 at 7:51 PM UTC
There was once a sheep and a dragon. The dragon loved the sheep very much, more than she loved herself, but the dragon could never express her love because she was afraid she might hurt the sheep. You see, sheep and dragons don't belong together. If the dragon were to breathe fire on the sheep's wool by accident the sheep would die. If the dragon accidentally stepped on her sheep, she would never see his handsome smiling face again, and what good would that be? So the dragon cried and cried.
Then there was the sheep. Sheep loved dragon too, but none of his sheep friends thought that he would be cool if he married a dragon. They would make fun of him, call him names and his parents would shun him. The sheep knew that the dragon could hurt him but he wasn't worried, he would wrap himself in something that wasn't flammable and he would be sure never to walk underneath the beautiful dragon. The problem was, the sheep couldn't figure out if he loved his family or Dragon more. So he went to seek help from the wise Turtle.
Turtle lived very far from sheep, but sheep thought that the walk was worth it to find out what he should do. When he arrived at Turtle's house, he was invited in for tea and Oreos. After the small snack, Sheep got right to business and he told Turtle his predicament. Turtle laughed and shook his tiny, Turtle head. "My child," Turtle said "If you really loved Dragon, everyone else's thoughts wouldn't be important. Prove to her that she matters." Sheep shook his head. Turtle hadn't solved his problem at all! "You are NO help you crazy old turtle," yelled Sheep. And he stormed out.
A day or so later Dragon went to see wise old Turtle too. She told Turtle about how she felt about sheep. Again, the wise (and now crazy) Turtle laughed. He thought that young kids didn't understand true love. "Let go of your insecurities Dragon. Sheep loves you and he accepts everything about you, he loves the fire that you breathe, even though it can burn him sometimes and he loves your big feet even though they can stomp him sometimes." The Dragon went home thinking about what Turtle had told her.
A week later Sheep and Dragon went together to see Turtle. Sheep apologized for being so rude before and said that he thought about what Turtle said and realized that he was right. Sheep loved Dragon and that was all that mattered. Dragon blushed red, like the fire she breathed. Turtle turned toward Dragon and asked her what she had learned. Dragon said she learned that even though she may be insecure about some things, she shouldn't let that get in the way of being happy with someone that she loves. Turtle laughed for that last time in this story and said, "Love is a funny thing, sometimes we don't always see what is there" with that being said, Dragon and Sheep ran away to live happily ever after.
Jul 29, 2013
Jul 29, 2013 at 3:23 PM UTC
Only friendship.
You made yourself clear - clear as glass - that it could never be more.
But as I too am glass, a small shard of me broke off and shattered.
And why did it ignite my spirit to be in your presence, to be enfolded in your warmth
Why, why did it set my heart aflame, burn me with such flammable, incendiary envy
To see you lust after another, to want far beyond friendship with them
Why did that melt me
I was already committed to another, no matter if it was a dry, barren whisper of once-existing love or a forest of endless rain
It was commitment
Yet in spite of this, I continued to melt
Melting, right down to my core
Where I am just sand
Vulnerable, exposed, walked-on sand that could, at any second, be picked up by the wind and taken to another pit of uncertainty
But you
You dropped the empty attempts
And you began giving me your time
You showed me the naïveté that I am, and you took my hand and led me through a dark room
It was cold, and I was afraid
And you could not tell me that "everything would be okay"
Because this was real, unfiltered life you were motioning to before me
And though it was not a fully comfortable realisation,
The cold slowly thawed, from the outsides into my core, my sand
And as I thawed, as you too made yourself more vulnerable,
I at last began to take shape
Perhaps I have a calling
Beyond this fragile shell I consistently run back to for shelter, return to when it yearns back for my unearthed body to be protected again
But I knew better,
That when you molt from your armour,
Its purpose has been used up, and it is now just an empty shell, and it is time for that shell to be discarded.
And now, in my infantile flesh,
I trust that you can be my protector until my new shell can learn to harden
I am still unsure today if it has solidified,
Because I am focused elsewhere
Focused on you
My heart's every beat feels light at the remembrance of you
My mind's every thought a whirlwind
From the dissonance of reaching for you and being tempted to go back under the comfort of my old shell, from the knowledge that these two cannot coexist
But my soul, my soul is nearing soundness at last
Because with you here, I feel that my honest identity is at last coming to life
With you here,
Your breezes blow, but I do not fear that I will be carried away
Your shore arrives, but I do not fear that I am going to wash away
Though it was you who dared grind me down to my initial state of innocent sand,
You have sculpted me, even with the uselessness that I've felt I am
Shown me my potential
And made me a flourishing seashore.
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:39 AM UTC
A Valentine's Card dressed
With Steve Buscemi's face,
photoshopped onto a child,
disturbing and hilarious,
tattooed on the inside
with once-true truths.
Flammable.
A severed chunk of
35 mm film,
cut in a rhombus,
or trapeze or whatever,
highly flammable.
A piece of cloth
I brought with me,
And the part of
the belt I had to cut
off so it would fit
my skinny ***
Flammable, slightly.
A dead and dried up leaf,
Impaled on the bulletin board,
From a tree I don't even know what,
That sometimes crinkles with the wind,
If she were alive still,
She would comment on the
Cold thumbtack spear
In her abdomen, and
Sniff regrets at the sweet,
Artificial Vanilla waves below.
I keep my wall of
flammable memories
Above a lit candle,
Every day, I wish the flames
Would reach a little higher, but
Every day, the wax sinks,
low, low, lower still.
Feb 26, 2017
Feb 26, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
It's the fragmented relationships and the attempts.
It's the strength you have to believe is in there,
somewhere
It's the hope for the future and the bible verses that hold me,
and you,
together.
It's the tears and the shame and the relatable lyrics
that hold you,
like a warm blanket after hours of terribly poetry in a cold, windowless room,
that cradle us in our flammable youth,
that extinguish the flames of potential misery,
that relay the truth after months of running from just that.
I don't want to feel this way anymore.
The simple lies are, I don't know what I'm blindfolding myself against.
Sense?
What for?
Who needs to make that?
These words are the fragmented seashells alongside the shore of my emotions.
As often as you find a sand dollar whole,
will my poetry (or lack thereof)
appeal to anyone besides the lies personified that reside in my flammable heart.
May 31, 2012
May 31, 2012 at 11:50 AM UTC
intoxicating
Pour yourself into me,
until you are sweet
and I'm on fire.
tongue, tied, valentine
I am listening, it’s just...
(I got distracted)
...you have the
most
beautiful
wrists
I’ve
ever
seen.
x
restraint
I’m not interested
in cheap nylon confession.
I’d rather unravel
a good quality secret-
Make a beautiful bond
from its thread.
Hangman
I should warn him:
My soul leaks like a sieve.
Instead I listen silently
to words that steal
my breath.
You and I
You are
delicious
And I am
greedy.
You are
generous
And I am
needy.
You are
experienced
And I am
learning.
You are
flammable
And I am
burning.
Oct 11, 2011
Oct 11, 2011 at 12:40 PM UTC
i light matches on non flammable things and start fires i
cannot extinguish, i start all consuming love and then tear it apart
viciously and tiredly and try to put back the pieces of my heart
in this sacred chest at the bottom of wherever my skeleton ends
because that is where it belongs, alone and protected
you were a cigarette i denied myself the pleasure of smoking you
were an old record player that i would dance to by myself
at 2 am just because and you were strawberry hill wine in the
middle of the park that tasted agonizingly sweet on my tongue
and scorched my throat into believing this was happiness
i still whisper your name whenever i drive by your house in prayer
that i will never see you again, you are still a ghost in the corner
of my mind and i have a feeling you will always be
(h.l.)
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 3:46 PM UTC
some say im cynical
satanical
that my minds mechanical
diabolical
spoken essence erotical
detestable
jaded imagery hypnotical
unstoppable
liable to solve the unsolvable
while prodigal poets drown in their nautical modules
im a criminal
a cannibal
storming the street like an animal
shooting cannonballs
through prison walls
splattering the generals
in bathroom stalls
hostil
leave you poppin pain pills in the hospital
uncontrollable
my temper is flammable
mumbles illegible
choking you with your pentacle
leaving onlookers speckled
the abominable
mental protocols unstoppable
the unfeasible constable
shooting up the card table
willing and able
to call your fables
and smash apart a label
i raise babies in unstable cradles
let you bleed out
like cracked ladles
engorged in unholy wars
exploring
the corruption of the core
deplored
uniformed for
the clash of the double edge swords
taking control of vocal chords
a meet of the hordes
of the horned
misinformed
adorned
in sunlight
trying to shine
just 1 line
at a time
until my life signs decline
almost time
light and shadow combined
Horus and set
by hindsight blessed
yet to contest
to the rest of this mess
by melancholy caressed
as i arise unrest
from the cess
of the un confessed
blessed
Jul 9, 2012
Jul 9, 2012 at 6:14 AM UTC
How to design a killer society
by president whiteness
the imperial imagination
drone culture
drone language
drone purpose
a rough process
of putting your conscience
back into yourself
far away from what you look like
while having your experience
surrounded by those who fear
having their experience alone
awkward comparisons of experience
acting out in play
called
“how normal melts into experience”
you ****** expired
you are looking now
at yourself having been experienced
expired and ready for the next program
I destroyed leisure
white celebration
single handedly
found its brittle structure
and took it apart
piece by piece
as it squeezed and begged
I smiled as it crumbled
down back to nature
begging for mercy
begging to be taught how to live
how to be alive
i can give time
I can take it away
does time need electricity
to be charged
does time need to socialize
the harder it seems
the more easy my words come
the better they touch you
graze your skin barely
tickles
like I could never with my hands
I want my words to be a spark
I want you to be flammable
I want you to be mesmerized
by the flame I made out of your attention
I want you to feel warm and cozy
burning passion
scared of fire out of control
spreading
you need
yet fear so boldly
desperate nuclear dissociation
like the affection of whiteness
stampeding innocence
feining my writing
like drugs needles
love
too deep in limbs
they are coming
imperialism
*******
longing for
bodies
I want your mind
keep her body
naked hostage
of imperial lust
what happened to your attention
being an adult
I don’t know what the **** is in the future
but I do
so do you
I wanted to write to you
so I could just focus
on your eyes the next time I am with you
your moistness
melts my desire
I become more of a mystery
more mystery
until nothing but mystery
and then nothing at all
Oct 11, 2018
Oct 11, 2018 at 6:43 PM UTC
I.
Fireman, censor of literature and destroyer of knowledge, with his mighty flamethrower. He loves his work. He loves trouble and strife. He loves fascination with the people next door. Mostly, he loves his hammock. But sleep will be his final unrest.
II.
A gift for the darkness: reading from the forbidden kept hidden in the air-conditioning duct. The walls within turn on and off like Cora Pearl. His wife listens to far winds and whispers and soap-opera cries, sleep-walking, helped up and down curbs by a husband who might just as well not have been there. They walk on as an extinguished connection. In the flickering of his eyeballs, he dreams of driving recklessly to Dover Beach and drowning her.
III.
Burning bright. He is burning so brightly. In the factory of mirrors, he takes a hard look. He's a flammable book. And it's a pleasure to burn. "What are you doing?" She asks. "Putting one foot in front of another." He answers.
Aug 9, 2021
Aug 9, 2021 at 3:31 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
I manage my time better than I manage my emotions.
Proceed with caution, there might be an explosion,
Like I'm made of vapors of Flammable and Combustible Liquids.
They say the longest rope has an end.
But do not tempt me with rope,
Because if it gets too hard,
I. Might. Just. Use. It.
© Deneka Thomas . All rights reserved
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 2:28 AM UTC
Welcome my Princess! Oh Heavens,
For the queen of my heart
Is about to offer to nature
Her complete beauty of Africa,
Give her the Kente cloth
In its rich, natural and splendid array,
And offer her newborn feet with
The golden sandals and diamond beads,
Behold! There she descends from the
Unapproachable eternal flames of the sun,
With the divine firmament
Fizzling at her flammable tune,
See how the precious fragrant branches
Of the clouds covers her lovely feet,
For the clouds have gathered and there is
Nothing more to expect but the storm,
Oh yes, I have found a ****** woman,
The beauty among the daughters of great men,
Whose eyes are as brilliant as the star
And as delightful as a sugarcane;
Behold, her face is as bright as palm wine;
Her hair sleeps like a slender thread,
And her stature is as that of a pawpaw tree,
She is called Obaahemaa Kabutuwaa
And truly she is Rasses Kabutuwaa
Whose eyes are those of the faithful dove,
Truly, Kabutuwaa whose
Gods is like that of bees,
Slim, black and full of sweetness,
Truly, Kabutuwaa is obedient and wise,
Truly, Kabutuwaa for whom
All men felt love in their hearts!
Come! Oh my unveiled one,
And expose thy soft and loamy face,
For the nations shall seek and
Behold thy enviable eternal beauty,
Ah, the proud effeminate shadow of Africa,
Please show the angelic face of
Thy love to my perturbed soul,
For thou art an African ****** indeed.
© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: [email protected]
Apr 8, 2013
Apr 8, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
I don't even have words,
For the ways that I don't feel,
I am not the waving of the fields.
I hold onto songs about the moon,
My tides do not swell with her,
I am more the darkness in this room,
Cold, unmoving, absolute.
I am not the motion of your hair,
As he runs his fingers through it,
I no longer even stare.
I Am not the climbing of tree,
I do not yearn upward,
Is there anything to see?
(or be?)
I am not the warmness of your breath,
Clinging tight to your fingers,
And the inside of your chest,
I am not the dreams you make,
As dragons fly by night,
And sparks flow in your wake.
I am not the whispers,
You feel close to your ears,
I am more like distant echoes,
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 12:27 AM UTC
for KA
There is something in this for both of us. We have chemistry, let's be lab partners. Help me with problems like which would make a better poem: a pandemic, a wolverine, or a broken heart? You know I only chose you because you enjoy my fondling your blond *** as you lean over the Bunsen burner, because we have flammable *** on the periodic table, but this is more serious than calculations or ******* As a poet, I need to access the deeper moaning of reality, but you are a screamer, not a moaner. Let's experiment anyhow. Lift that skirt and let's explore something elemental, make a new molecule, feel the reaction. Help me probe the fundamentals of creation and I may love you, though surely not enough, as we are both non-valent. Even though we may never bond, we are in this together, partner. Lift your beaker to my lips. Outcomes are never certain.
Mar 25, 2017
Mar 25, 2017 at 6:22 AM UTC
No one told me
so i'm telling you
i expected grief to feel like sadness
but i wasnt told that
that it makes your whole body ache from morning until night
and even in your sleep
and that it makes your hands sting from numbness
making buttoning your jeans impossible
and that some days clumps of your hair fall out
but having a good hair day is the least of your worries
and morbid thoughts attack like being ***** slapped upside your head
hurting so bad you actually pass out in mid sen--
But it's nothing like the sadness i had expected to feel
i've known clinical depression since age 4
and that feeling of curling up in the fetal position
waving the white flag of surrender
trying to make yourself into the tiniest ball of nothing
But grief is a flammable substance
and you can feel it as it ignites the flame of your soul
it feels like being angry in a righteous way
like when jesus knocked over the flea market vendor's tables at the temple
like being so ****** off at all of the scales that are inbalanced
and it is the fuel that makes you want to correct the injustices of the world
and become larger than you are
and shower love compassion and truth over evil
no one told me that grief feels like this
so i'm telling you
Sep 26, 2013
Sep 26, 2013 at 3:46 PM UTC
The air is autumn.
Smell of yesterday enters the air.
Yesterday's furniture.
Piles of junk.
Flaming ablaze.
Flaming amazing.
As I said smell the air.
Don't stand too close though.
No fingers burned.
It feels so good.
Don't need the heating on.
Rely on the bonfire burning bright.
To keep me warm for a while tonight.
Great excuse to destroy the flammable trash.
Only reminder, a pile of ash.
Smell of burning.
Aged brush wood.
A flaming bonfire.
So good so refreshing.
Fireworks such an expensive waste of hard earned cash.
Don't want my wages to go up in a flash.
A good bonfire is just so gratifying.
November the 5th, smelly fun.
Livvi
Nov 5, 2014
Nov 5, 2014 at 6:41 AM UTC
Its time to rest,
My favorite stuff animal on my chest.
No matter how old I grow.
My favorite stuff animal will help me defeat every foe.
I cuddle with its old fabric,
No longer new but still seems to be magic.
Its stitches now loose,
And is stained from some old juice.
But I love my stuff animal,
Even if he is flammable.
He is always there,
Waiting to declare,
That I shouldn't be scared.
Because he in there to protect,
To keep me in check,
So I wont have a freight,
About meeting my worst fears yet.
As I know I will be safe,
As I lay down and wait.
Good dreams will come,
With my favorite stuff animal and then some.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 10:26 PM UTC
Sunrise was just a red line in the inky void, as Lisa and I reached the harbor decking stairs,
but at once, the brazen slash began widening, like a silent, slow motion explosion,
thin, smoky wisps of cloud, like flammable tissue, prismed the stage light ignition.
bee-de-deep my phone chirped. It was Peter (my bf).
“Hey you,” I pronounced, as Lisa took off her left sneaker and shook it, upside-down.
“How’s the harbor?” Peter asked. I glanced at my watch, it was 5:32 am in New Haven.
Peter must be at lunch (in Geneva) and tracking our morning run with the ‘Find My’ app.
“Beautiful,” I pronounced, “they’re really putting on a show.”
Of course, I meant the universe, the sun, the turns who were already at work, and Long Island Sound.
The gulls, perched on whatever, and grousing at each other, obviously haven’t had their coffee.
I read that AI had decoded bird talk and on a wire, they chittered, “Move over, you’re in my space.”
“Just wanted to say good morning,” Peter confessed, “Good Morning.”
“Good morning,” I wished back, “gotta go,” I replied, Lisa had finished de-pebbling her shoe.
“Yep,” Peter agreed, “Seee ya,” he quipped. “See ya,” I chuckled, smiling.
My watch asked, in my Air Podded ears, “Have you finished your workout?” because I was motionless.
I pressed the crown of my watch and slid the phone back in my pocket, our jogg’s only half done.
We began our harbor exodus, by turning our backs to the haven. It was already beginning to busy with boats.
We slipped on our hats and protective, polarized sunglasses as we began to run directly into the blazing sun.
.
.
Songs for this:
Sail on Sailor by the Beach Boys
Dancing in the moonlight by Toploader
Cold Heart - PNAU Remix by Elton John, Dua Lipa, PNAU
Apr 25, 2024
Apr 25, 2024 at 10:07 AM UTC
A little slice of the pie
I try to consume but I
throw it up every time.
Bulimic the scenic
route I take.
No mistake I meant to regurgitate.
Choking down lies, smiling like it taste great.
Get another helping of the American pie plate.
Washed down
with whiskey, strong and brown
like the strong and brown brothers
that scalped heads and used skins for covers.
Good morning, America!
Ignore the hysteria.
Pay attention to the sensations
on the surface area
Cap'n crunch
is more important Captains getting crunched
in a 13 year war we started off a hunch.
If you pay attention to the news
notice they ignore the trues
like the flammable water coming from your hose
or the fact you can't afford your children's clothes
We're buying apps and devices for $1200,maybe,
instead of $20 to buy a real ukelele
You see, we pay companies
to do things
because we're conditioned to be
to lazy when DIY was the real American dream.
Jun 27, 2013
Jun 27, 2013 at 8:21 PM UTC
he loves to drink,
he loves his liquor
so dearly,
but my nights
are nightmares
i'm in ruins,
mama and papa
are already dead,
they left me
in my uncle's cage
pain seems forever,
tears in every
silent scream,
i can't run,
my days are fallen
he loves his liquor,
and one night
when he slept
in the couch,
i got the chance!
a long match and
a flammable *****
in my hands,
the house burns
with him, and i smile
Feb 21, 2015
Feb 21, 2015 at 6:17 PM UTC