"flashover" poems - Hello Poetry

and this is how i pick my bones apart. every layer of skin begins to burn, there's a bad taste on my tongue from choking back on your name. i hear the tones drop in my chest, fully involved with my anger inside. and i wish that roof collapsed. when does the smoke clear up from the flashover we caused? there's a tombstone above my bed commending you for killing what was left in me. no light, no light, and you were trained to move without your vision. there goes the flag, my final call. to the monster you were, and he slayed, see you at the big one.

0

Jun 22, 2015

Jun 22, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC

farron

here lies the ashes

and this is how i pick my bones apart. every layer of skin begins to burn, there's a bad taste on my tongue from choking back on your name. i hear the tones drop in my chest, fully involved with my anger inside. and i wish that roof collapsed. when does the smoke clear up from the flashover we caused? there's a tombstone above my bed commending you for killing what was left in me. no light, no light, and you were trained to move without your vision. there goes the flag, my final call. to the monster you were, and he slayed, see you at the big one.

10

~ *connected particles settling as evidence of the blissful graze the brush with chemistry the aftersome and there the flashover reframing time by the warm places one isolated touch sends you to* ~

0

Jul 14, 2021

Jul 14, 2021 at 1:23 PM UTC

Carlo-C-Gomez

Fingerdust

~ *connected particles settling as evidence of the blissful graze the brush with chemistry the aftersome and there the flashover reframing time by the warm places one isolated touch sends you to* ~

11

I write you, because the absence of you is still somehow shaped like your presence. I write you because you overwhelm, overwhelmed my defences and now that my house is underwater there is only air that is not you in the top corner of the attic. I drift along on the current of you I’ve created, fallen prey to, and wonder if it will ever end. Or lessen. Abate. I could let the air leave my lungs and sink down into you as long as I knew that in the water you were wrapped back around me as I was wrapping myself around you. I drown in your tide and pray that your fire begins to burn less brightly, no longer a flashover combustion but something that lingers long and warm and comforting. Instead I will macerate away, fasting on air-fulls of you I am convinced are whole meals, and you will fall victim to my incendiary blaze as I go out in nothing akin to glory, and we’ll both stand on opposite sides of a road as we bleed and stare back at each other. This will only hurt, but the swell of you I sail forth on, carrying in my veins with every waterlogged step, means I can’t stop. I don’t want to.

0

Aug 28, 2018

Aug 28, 2018 at 1:40 PM UTC

Longnoideatime

You

I write you, because the absence of you is still somehow shaped like your presence. I write you because you overwhelm, overwhelmed my defences and now that my house is underwater there is only air that is not you in the top corner of the attic. I drift along on the current of you I’ve created, fallen prey to, and wonder if it will ever end. Or lessen. Abate. I could let the air leave my lungs and sink down into you as long as I knew that in the water you were wrapped back around me as I was wrapping myself around you. I drown in your tide and pray that your fire begins to burn less brightly, no longer a flashover combustion but something that lingers long and warm and comforting. Instead I will macerate away, fasting on air-fulls of you I am convinced are whole meals, and you will fall victim to my incendiary blaze as I go out in nothing akin to glory, and we’ll both stand on opposite sides of a road as we bleed and stare back at each other. This will only hurt, but the swell of you I sail forth on, carrying in my veins with every waterlogged step, means I can’t stop. I don’t want to.

9

and it happens like this — youth like the matches that make up your rib cage, black smoke breathes in and out from your chest. inhale, exhale, they call this a flashover. the room combusts, and i am running for the door. armor made of leather and air tanks. it was not enough to rescue me from the intensity of your flame. they sound off the alarm. once, twice, three times. you carry the ashes, you sing to me once more. and how could this be? the structure collapsing below my feet, and i imagine falling into your hands. but there are tools in place and the weight of your exhaustion. pulling at the air above and exposing the danger unseen. but you see, you and i, we were forged from the most violent fire. our bones in pits and veins feeding the gasoline. days shaped by your heat — they taught me how to prevent burns. gear up, lead the way, extinguish the threat. but, babe, they did not go over how to survive the flash of light, the scorched throats and screams of 'mayday!'. no, they did not prepare me to face the intensity of high tempatures in the form of your absence. they taught me how to be blind in the dark, how to pull you from it's depths. but not to survive your structure's demise. they did not teach me how to live when you set everything aflame.

0

Mar 3, 2015

Mar 3, 2015 at 3:31 AM UTC

farron

flashovers and backdrafts

and it happens like this — youth like the matches that make up your rib cage, black smoke breathes in and out from your chest. inhale, exhale, they call this a flashover. the room combusts, and i am running for the door. armor made of leather and air tanks. it was not enough to rescue me from the intensity of your flame. they sound off the alarm. once, twice, three times. you carry the ashes, you sing to me once more. and how could this be? the structure collapsing below my feet, and i imagine falling into your hands. but there are tools in place and the weight of your exhaustion. pulling at the air above and exposing the danger unseen. but you see, you and i, we were forged from the most violent fire. our bones in pits and veins feeding the gasoline. days shaped by your heat — they taught me how to prevent burns. gear up, lead the way, extinguish the threat. but, babe, they did not go over how to survive the flash of light, the scorched throats and screams of 'mayday!'. no, they did not prepare me to face the intensity of high tempatures in the form of your absence. they taught me how to be blind in the dark, how to pull you from it's depths. but not to survive your structure's demise. they did not teach me how to live when you set everything aflame.

26

and so there she stands your daughter liberty alone and weak because you left her unattended in a sundress and fireman's coat with blood on her chin and her face contorted for the cameras to see stupefied on the edge of the gravel pit with the confetti ash swirling in her hair and her eyes filled with animal fear as her slack body slams against the railing and a swan song swells in her throat they use billy clubs to beat back the rats under the skull of the moon and the fickle stars like frantic pouncing eagles the neighborhood dying has scratch marks all over it diamonds etched in storefront windows and rollicking clouds of tear gas to make it fun there's a ****** taking a **** out in the open street and where's the flag? oh i remember it's snagged on a parapet five stories up burning in the ignored sunset between the silent buildings we are an enormous pile of sentient garbage coming up from the rot wearing life preservers advancing with the picket line tide blowing flashbang death on flugelhorns outside the framework of the 2-party system invented by the mongrels in hollywood guerrillas moving in troupes thru the city streets filled with exhilarating hope and plumes of smoke insurgents chanting violence is american as apple pie i keep my tv dark to reflect the flames of the grocery store outside and my insides feel ripped up, i've never had a shave this close squish my denim body against the window like a telescope to hear the growl from the depths under the city this is the moment just before something big happens this is the flashover this is when the panic begins there's a man in a tree out in palmdale and i need the morphine to tell me it isn't my fault i need my pastor to tell me god doesn't lie tonight the fuses blew out on an entire continent tonight i wept

0

Jun 14, 2020

Jun 14, 2020 at 11:38 AM UTC

david-badgerow

Blood From Peasants

and so there she stands your daughter liberty alone and weak because you left her unattended in a sundress and fireman's coat with blood on her chin and her face contorted for the cameras to see stupefied on the edge of the gravel pit with the confetti ash swirling in her hair and her eyes filled with animal fear as her slack body slams against the railing and a swan song swells in her throat they use billy clubs to beat back the rats under the skull of the moon and the fickle stars like frantic pouncing eagles the neighborhood dying has scratch marks all over it diamonds etched in storefront windows and rollicking clouds of tear gas to make it fun there's a ****** taking a **** out in the open street and where's the flag? oh i remember it's snagged on a parapet five stories up burning in the ignored sunset between the silent buildings we are an enormous pile of sentient garbage coming up from the rot wearing life preservers advancing with the picket line tide blowing flashbang death on flugelhorns outside the framework of the 2-party system invented by the mongrels in hollywood guerrillas moving in troupes thru the city streets filled with exhilarating hope and plumes of smoke insurgents chanting violence is american as apple pie i keep my tv dark to reflect the flames of the grocery store outside and my insides feel ripped up, i've never had a shave this close squish my denim body against the window like a telescope to hear the growl from the depths under the city this is the moment just before something big happens this is the flashover this is when the panic begins there's a man in a tree out in palmdale and i need the morphine to tell me it isn't my fault i need my pastor to tell me god doesn't lie tonight the fuses blew out on an entire continent tonight i wept

46

we live in a monotone world useless conversations pointless tasks until you find the person the person who causes a flashover in your otherwise bland life.

0

Jun 29, 2018

Jun 29, 2018 at 12:24 AM UTC

introspectivebeet

flashover

we live in a monotone world useless conversations pointless tasks until you find the person the person who causes a flashover in your otherwise bland life.

7