"inflammable" poems
I.
I’ve swallowed too many I love you’s
to be afraid of coughing up blood.
They cut you on secret.
Who knew it was drinking gasoline
and sawdust and every little inflammable thing
and then sitting down cross-legged
in the heart of a howitzer; soft.
II.
You are a soft explosion.
You are streaks of a rebel orange
in a sky that is supposed to be blue.
You are steel rods in the curve of my spine,
holding me straight.
III.
I love you’s are like death notes written in ash:
you’ll have to smoke your way to it.
Smoke cigarettes, journals, curtains,
and yourself to get that much ash in your lungs;
trying to blow smoke rings into your finger;
my ceiling knows more about my sadness than you do.
IV.
Saying an I love you once will have you
chanting “don’t leave me” on a rosary;
love will take your bones and leave you
lusting for somebody whose back
is the last thing you’ll see, and whose
skin you’ll think you left your keys in:
and now you’ve locked yourself out
of your own house, in a storm
whose sirens wail in your ears and remind
you, you’re hopeless and homeless.
V.
I love you’s leave no exit wounds,
no shell casings, and when the time comes
you’ll be telling them all how his bullet
ricochets in your ribs,
but emotion never made up for evidence
in the court of settlements for a broken heart.
VI.
Telling someone you love them is like cutting your jugular
and not expecting to bleed out.
VII.
I love you like the pages of a mad girl’s journal.
VIII.
The moon turns from an ally
to the haunting image of science and realisation:
you share the same sky, but no longer the same bed.
And astronomy keeps ******** you over
when you look up at the sky
and no longer understand constellations.
IX.
Love makes it more getting-back-at-you
than getting-back-together-with-you.
X.
Every time you taste blood,
you’ll know you kissed somebody
with teeth like needles
and they cut you everywhere; they
bit you, they bit you, they bit you
and you kept letting them.
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 10:29 PM UTC
Nice to meet you, stranger
You look like I love you from somewhere.
We’ve got three whole lives
to exchange pleasantries.
Yours. Mine. Ours.
But just for now,
can we go back to my place
and set each other on fire?
I only ask because, tonight
I’m inflammable.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 1:56 AM UTC
In the night
I watch the candle flame
cast its flickering glow
through its own transluscence
A tiny flame
of light in the dark
of warmth in the cold
It dances to the breeze of the ceiling fan
as if fanning a spark of belief in my soul
A tiny flame
to show the way
to point the proper path
We need no raging fire to light the way
A tiny flame is enough
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 2:51 AM UTC
thus do learn how to tolerate
the blow of wings
of the most inflammable flesh
after the successful sacrifice of the student-hostel
jumping into the peacock-foams
how dangerously is changing the total travel-route of the nail-polish
in the high tide of the coconut-kernel
that conquers the world
today the water-pigeon gets pain
only by the flute made of palm-leaf
can’t be written the pleasure-trip in boat
of the injured-knee night-queen that is deposited heavily
on the collar of the village-moonlight
even-then the gramophone would be playing on
even-then the courageous pheasant would proceed further
to throw towards the squirrel a dinner-sleep
then all the daughters in disguise of birds certainly
may come out from within the salted mosquito-net
burning open-ground in their eyes
even after
the small boats of the fig leaves
would slip from the chorus song
of the roses
then they are to be pulled forward to the river-bed
of the late afternoon
to make them understand again
that such Xerox-centre which can ignore its metallic-birth
does not grow even now on either side of this muddy road
so look at to see how the epenthesis
of the screwpine-leaf withdraws her beak from the old dome
and pours
all new mathematics
into the compact-disc stitched with the back of the sea-tortoise
if that’s not real
how in the left and right
such evil-company of the oxygen would creep
if the next part of this commentary
resumes from the umbilicus cavity of the x-mass
would the blood-sugar of the water-plankton be rising continuously
look there again
the feather of colour that is in her adolescence
touches the cold magnet of her gamut
to disperse the cherry orchards
now if the doors of this brown triangle be got open
you can see on the screen one by one
the projection of the apex-points of the red-palash
and in the night-texture of the kathakali-kathak
they are supplying continuously
small sun-shines in poly-packs
Sep 13, 2010
Sep 13, 2010 at 5:34 PM UTC
A cloud of passion from above, signaled to him
to kiss her burning lips, that look like lightening ,
blindly in love with the ever evasive ethereal swirl,
waiting to be on a date with her desperately for long,
he did it quick; a powerful surge never felt before
radiated through him, at that impromptu moment,
he flew up and dissolved in a flash. without a trace.
Jan 15, 2016
Jan 15, 2016 at 2:29 PM UTC
Love is an iron anchor,
Who keeps a strudy home,
Who seals the fate of the falling.
Love is a burning bush,
So glorious it has to ignite,
Brighter than the sun, yet inflammable.
Love is the sound of the seaside winds,
Ethereal whispers turned howls,
Spawning waves to tug and hug the coast line.
Love is a family home,
With age comes more memories,
With time comes more maintenance.
Love is half a cigarette,
A safety net when you need it,
A stink you can't wash off.
Love is but a nightmare,
A beautiful dream gone wrong,
What lofty ideas did desire taint?
Love is a game of house,
Familiar, easy archetypes; performance,
Life is a game, a good friend said.
Love is a double-edged sword,
The strongest weapon,
Your hands always end up ****** when you use it.
Love is pride.
Gaining ownership, control, security.
Love is shame.
Losing autonomy, independence, sanity.
Love is the fuel of the Beloved,
Sacred mana,
Emotional crack-cocaine.
Jan 5, 2014
Jan 5, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
We fell in love in a house fire;
a blaze that did not **** us,
but rather starve us of oxygen.
Left Breathless. Choked.
I was incessantly used to being
the inflammable result of too many
fractured stars in my "decadent"
bloodstream. I know I was hard to love.
I set you ablaze,
left wanting approval from the smoke
inside your lungs in shades of
charred throats.
You left me feeling like a
faulty fire escape.
Do not come to me when things
get too hot. I will burn,
singe, scald and scar,
until you are finally the ashes
someone forgot to love.
Dean Eastmond
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 2:05 PM UTC
I have seem to lost connection with simple emotions
Which re-configures ******** devotions
Feelings that are best expressed
like the ***** of a rose
A small single sting
Just an "ouch" I suppose
But I know the pain is there
And it's almost unbearable
My cosmic mind begins to breakdown
It's **** near irreparable
I've lost the ability to whimper
I've gained the ability to cry
All these unblemished feelings
Make my tear ducts run dry
My sentiment has grown stronger
There's no simplicity in my heart
My emotional responses were a blank canvas
They have matured into art
When I am most unhappy
My face begins to drown
When I am at the peak of elation
My aura glows all around
I've lost the ability to become angry
I've gained vehemence in its prime
Inflammable emotions
Build in such time
When my stomach begins to rumble
I am no longer hungry yet starving
The electric vibrations you give me
Get engraved inside my soul like a tree bark carving
When I love, I love hard
Nothing in-complex about it
If you cannot take my deep emotions
You and I are not the puzzle piece I saw so fit
Although I have lost connection with simple emotions
I have gained connection with the real ones inside
Feeling such things shouldn't be subtle
Our eccentric emotions are nothing to hide
-S
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 2:36 AM UTC
Good evening,
Welcome to this new segment called,
Sleep eludes me.
The fairies of shut eye haunt me,
Claw at me,
The nightmares don't begin,
Reality turns and heads South,
Down into the depths of uncharted darkness.
The compass points in all directions,
It's broken.
I learnt today,
Dreams are inflammable,
They should come with a warning sign,
Warning, Danger, Wet Floor, Inflammable dreams.
They caught on fire before I could dream them,
Now I sit here helpless,
Eyes red and tearing up.
Sweet sister of death,
Embrace me,
Let me feel the warmth,
Of drifting into a new land every night,
Of meeting new people in a new light,
Of dreams where I'll meet her tonight.
Come here,
Sit with me,
Have I told you I love you?
Smile.
And yet it burns again,
Inflammable fantasies,
Engulfed in a flame of nightmares,
Where are you?
Speak to me,
Guide me with your voice,
This house is going down in flames.
Save me,
Sweet sister of sleep,
Embrace me.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 2:50 AM UTC
And here we are in yesterday's tomorrow,
Meeting the runway with our brows furrowed.
The crumbled clothes we ironed for a long night's sleep,
And the out of tune vibrations we sang with our knees.
We drenched the sheets with inflammable imagination,
And the early aroma of the sun set fire to our expectations.
So here we are in yesterday's tomorrow,
With the near future's dreams to borrow.
We bring out the suits that the fire didn't ruin,
Because nine o'clock always comes way too soon.
And soon enough the clicking sound of our shoes on the pavements,
Will leave no further room in our mind for that fantasy fragrance.
Welcome to yesterday's tomorrow, yes the timing is impaired,
Empty both your hands, never come to this day prepared.
● ● ●
Jan 13, 2017
Jan 13, 2017 at 6:02 AM UTC
The man gazed at the weathered sheet of paper held listlessly between finger and thumb, its edges slightly ripped and not a little yellowed. The list was printed in varying shades of ink, the older entries significantly faded. The words were his life transcribed: a list of all he had accomplished. The list included both trivial and monumental achievements and covered the page from back to front.
His expression was not one of pride or satisfaction, however. It was instead one of deep unsettlement, despair. No joy was to be had from his successes; no reprieve from the sense of ubiquitous uselessness was found in the work he finished.
The feeling was dampened when active, but at night with only his list as company the weight of his utter lack of meaning tore his lungs from their cage and his heart from its socket.
He took a lighter from his pocket and resolutely held the flame to the parchment. The flame, however, merely curled round the edges and left the frayed paper unharmed; his life was so lackluster as to be absolutely inflammable, untouchable by any strong desire or emotion.
The apathy clogged his throat but forced him to breathe.
He sat down heavily and tried to remember how to cry.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:06 AM UTC
Some days will be bad.
You will want to rip apart your ligaments
You will want to rupture your lungs
You'll no longer want to hear the bird sing.
You'll douse yourself in gasoline and strike a match at arms length.
but as the clock wrings it's hands, the nights of lonliness will morph into comforting evenings by a fire
the ligaments you wanted to rip will grow stronger, the gasoline will become inflammable.
The wisps of horsetail clouds will spin across your horizon
and you will be okay.
The instances or decades of pain you feel
will fade into the wallpaper of the new ER you build yourself,
a sanctuary, a haven. All of it will dissolve, a pill in water, bursting and then dispersing, scattering to the edges of your memories.
It will get better.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 6:32 PM UTC
I
Tiny, they dance through me on the green wind;
They breathe me in: flame-inflammable and time
Out of memories. Damsels in foreign stories long eaten.
Yet I feel so drowsy. Martyr-like they whisper trails
Of their sugar dust onto my face and make me
Itch. I scratch with citronella nails and burst
Forward into the night. One imagines they’ll follow,
Seeing as how they think I’m their sun.
Do you remember that summer we spent with the
Dead? Maybe it was too long ago for you, but you
Always woke me for the sunsets. I remember.
And there was some song or other that kept break-
Ing through the radio… with the raindrops and some
Stately clock that I always associated with you.
II
You were always underneath me
Writing those idiotic sonnets.
When you broke water-heavy from
Me, of course I tried to follow.
The song to which you referred
Was “Night and Day”, but you know
I can always remember the words
To you better than any foolish
Song. There’s a torch within me
Keeps repeating “You. You. You.”
May 3, 2010
May 3, 2010 at 1:00 PM UTC
*If your plan's to love me then that plan's wrongly scheduled
If your plan's to love me better speak before I'm taken
Before my faith in romance is shaken and my soul too is broken
Come while I'm still outspoken, & the door to my heart's open
when I'm too honest to lie and still running on inflammable emotion
with strength to sail the ocean, when my boat's masts aren't rotten
and my love hasn't found her way into my corrupted doubtful mind
If your plan's to love me, say it while I still want to find
you so much that I believe love's blind
come and tell me while I can still really believe
before hope and trust ultimately take their leave
right now when I still find pleasure in emotional explorations and risks
speak before poachers cut my tusk
money's bound to be a curse that instills in me doubt
Tell me while I'm still caught hustling and running about
and in need of a compass to give me direction
when I haven't learnt to control my unrequited ********
the long journey to my mind
If you're planning to love me
Come while I still want to find
so much that I believe love's blind
come and tell me while I can still believe
before hope and trust take their leave,
lest poachers cut my tusks, beautiful tusks of optimism
Tell me before I'm coated by gorgeous pessimism
Don't wait till I'm too addicted to frigid ice of my desolation
to launch your frontal aggression
Put your plan to action whilst my mind's weak and heart's strong
before I find a place in this lonesome emptiness to belong
say it when I still can wholeheartedly host someone in my arms
before I'm totally cold and can no longer cuckold
Tell me before my train of thought derails and bee of despair hums
Don't keep me waiting any longer for patience is a weight
after all I think I've had the longest wait...
Speak, you might live to appreciate the single moment of courage
for something precious out of that moment you salvage...*
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 10:11 AM UTC
***Come we'll attach a string onto your memories
And put them as lanterns , onto the emerald trees
Inflammable spark like magic is to thrive
Watch then , how the mind's luminosity comes alive
From shade lit afternoons laying blankets beneath the oak
Until ,the moon sprinkles ethereal stardust for us to soak
Let's pen down soul's poetry , to bring back lost hope
While the fireflies make light within the lantern's envelope
There's a calling in those verses ,to rekindle the broken bond
Sharing their poetry on paper boats ,two friends across the pond .
Arising to leave , unkept promises they vow to keep
To meet again , when the sun embraces the other side with a leap.***
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 6:37 AM UTC
I used to ache
So passionately
For anything that had to do
With your sweet touch:
I used to picture
Your hand
Moving across my lips,
And I used to visualize
Your kiss
Swimming though
My bloodstream.
Your caress
Would sooth me
And simultaneously
Ignite me into flames.
But now
I don't
And it doesn't
And it can't
My lips
Do not ache for you;
Me head
Does not visualize you;
My bloodstream
Is clean of your kisses
(even thought you give me many);
And sadly,
I am not set to flame
By your touch anymore
The passion I felt
Is replaced by emptiness.
So when your hand finds mine,
And kisses my palm
With yours,
I feel nothing
But the warmth of your fingers
And the steady pulse
Of my own
Unfazed
Heartbeat
Jul 20, 2013
Jul 20, 2013 at 8:55 AM UTC
The moonlight fills its scope,
grounded as we are,
we could never intentionally die
although hives abide by us
their sting is not inevitable,
Are they the ghosts of honeycombe?
only having been
offered a brief nectar sauce
These fears are all inflammable,
yet speak of the wisdom untouched
by jealousy.
Jun 18, 2013
Jun 18, 2013 at 4:28 PM UTC
Give hand in my hand and forget about the rest
As a lover and beloved we are definitely the best
My beloved in this romantic weather be my guest
Let us be together in love quest just chest to chest
Your innocence makes me your lover sweetheart
We travel together from pore to pore part to part
Under the burning sun thru desert you are resort
On oath please declare that you will never depart
Embrace me,kiss me be part of my heart to ******
My beautiful beloved my innocent dove my angel
Being in jubilant mood, let us cross every hurdle
Beauty is appreciable and love is highly inflammable
Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 11:30 AM UTC
sometimes when i do my hair
hairspray in hand
i think about how easy it would be
to flick a lighter
and set myself on fire
Apr 10, 2016
Apr 10, 2016 at 3:29 PM UTC
Somehow
Somewhere
I found the secret
to burning the inflammable.
Someone
Some place
Found my face
Unrecognized
So they identified me
By all the scars I've made.
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:47 PM UTC
A guilty heart of a unsteady beat.
Shooting up fire to the ones who couldn’t stand the heat.
Exorcising my own demons,
The ones that creep.
A sorrow so long,
And a pain so deep.
In and out of mischief,
Was a soul to reep.
Praying, crying to God,
‘Please don’t let this be’
Mama talking to me,
Daddy gone.
I felt no love sitting in the passenger side all alone.
Ready to **** something,
High as hell way too gone,
But I have a warm heart,
Just didn’t know when to love,
Or how to start.
I was once taught how to love,
But now reminiscin’ I no longer
Get hugs,
Only a okay, and a shoulder
Shove.
Looking up at the sky one day hoping to be that dove.
In that clear blue sky,
Looking down at this empty world,
That us humans created.
Me and my sins debating,
Rather my anger and pain has truly
Deflated.
I tried to escape it.
Hold the handkerchief mama,
Away with it.
I’ve been up and thru it.
Yes it’s phenomenal.
Hard cold blood,
I’ve been thru the rain and the mud.
So there’s nothing you can really tell me,
At the end of the day I’ll still be-
Me.
Singing my soul away,
I should have been on glee,
Closed casket,
6 feet deep.
Going up the hill but the **** too steep.
Smoking real good,
But it’s too hard too sleep.
It’s too hard to be-
Me.
Deep in the world,
My name is a number.
They recognize me as a number.
Sleeping on the floor in that 2 bedroom house,
Mama you remember?
When shad wasn’t here that and this December,
The sweet scent that lingers,
Tongue rolling and sticky fingers.
My shirt,
My chest,
My heart,
Is where it hurts.
Inflammable, but so sweet,
Is it true?
I can’t be.
Am I?
A CRIMINAL
Marci h.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 8:09 AM UTC
melancholy sits on the
pavement, on a cold autumn day.
enjoying the music of a
thunderstorm, and screaming.
dreaming about the winter
yet to come, become grey.
submerged in the tunes
of a dark morning that is seeding,
beyond what any words can
convey or design.
watching the elements
of the sky growing and leaving.
how silently this picturesque
of almost nothing,
captures the lonely corners of my
unfathomable inflammable mind.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 5:31 AM UTC
to give back to the enemy and fleeing from the battlefield at the time of fighting(Sahih Bukhari: Volume 4, Book 51: Wills and Testaments (Wasaayaa), Number 28:)
Sahih Bukhari: Volume 4, Book 52: Fighting for the Cause of ALLAH [S.W.T], Number 65:
Narrated Abu Musa (R.A):
If a religion celebrates war
What then is religion for?
To instigate battle, to encourage ******
to perpetuate belief, or aims yet absurder?
Instigating empire from the corrusive sands
innocents slain as religion expands,
tolerance and nurture dispelled-
difference culled.
Religion will corrupt the mind
turning even the best of us morally blind,
actions scripted by dubious text
lives pretenaturally wrecked-
civilisations devastated
ideologically impregnated,
hoary beards and hoary words
twittering with dim-witted birds.
Books provide touchstones
for antique bones,
inflammable phrases
for religious actors caught in symbolic mazes,
inspiring hatred
in undeveloped souls, hate unabated.
Fighting to expand a creed
is planting the very seed
of pain and injustice,
of terror in music festivals
knives that rise and fall
in a rythmic toll
Young girls displaying flesh
hacked to death.
In such imaginings ethics fails
like the frightened child in ferocious gales.
Can we celebrate war
through religion's constant gore,
acolytes acquired
through spear and sword?
Expanding the umma through contemporary states
the unenquiring priest convinced of heroic fates,
of suicides enrolled in heaven
amongst similarly conscripted brethren,
for a god complicit in ******
what, oh what, is absurder?
Sep 4, 2017
Sep 4, 2017 at 11:02 AM UTC
i'm the flint. you're the match.
let's burn this forest down.
those who mean well
cannot stand in our way.
Jun 13, 2015
Jun 13, 2015 at 10:27 PM UTC
Drinking my whiskey teeth in the spiral of an unknown maw
Jumbled in my cups, where the thorns parade on ice
And gallons of faraway evaporate like an up close Eden…
My lungs full of aire and radioactive lovesongs
bejewelled in twilight… sink into me like a long groan
of quiet… choking on a scream that paintbrush cannot fathom
nor my prayers recite.
The volume of my sphere, squaring off with my span of years.
Folding space into impractical toys; my rivets, clenched in redwood
And forgotten things, purged by sleepless Time
On a pyre of inflammable
Pitards.
Nov 8, 2021
Nov 8, 2021 at 7:48 PM UTC