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Tie Nicks May 2014
Your middle name?
How long has it been since you wore a diaper?
How old were you when you first noticed you had feet?
How tall lying down?
A glowing thing or a burning dark,
Quick,
Pick one.
How many needles will fit between my eyelids?
How big was your first?
Your last?
This last light switch do I flick it?
Can you handle candles?
What’s it like to wear no skirt?
How many bras have you sniffed?
Define addiction.
Define a lover’s hip.
How many languages are enough?
How can you free yourself without getting committed?
And what’s it like inside yourself?
And I see your feet are like freaky small
And your hair smells like flies
And feels like fishes eyes
And you have three nostrils.
And the third one is for ****.
And that your eyelashes are made
From spider legs
And they move by themselves when you’re angry
Or turned on.
Can you believe me when I say
Your scent steams beautiful?
Did I stutter?
Did I stutter?
I don’t know, did i?
How many lines ago was that
Can you count the orange sticks
In the fridge honey and know that I’ll always want more?
What do you see from eyes so blue? Can you see that mine are glass?
Can you tell that they aren’t windows?
Can you quantify exactly more or less all you’d want my eyes to be?
Also, You have grass eye brows.
And one, two, too many tails
And your tendons are made of twizzlers
And you only drink Windex orange blue orange juice
And your hands are made of pancakes with lifelines
And your bellybutton has an eyeball in it
But we’re not supposed to ask who’s.
And your earlobes have lips and sometimes they
Whisper sweet nothings to the pigeons on the park benches while
You stroke your fingertips across various things,
Like pigeons,
Like me.
Like me?
Well, I broke up with my boyfriend and then spent the night,
And my roommate’s mom thinks we just need more hangers
And I start all my sentences with oh, well, look
And I ran through my apartment,
counted all my pairs of tights
And I noticed not a single
Tear looked like him
And I heard that song that he reminds me of
And it was the birds screaming the earth back awake
So I drank a whole bottle of V8 and went to sleep
And I broke up with that boyfriend and then spent the night
And my roommates convinced I can
Just go back tomorrow
and I dropped my sisters black vintage gloves in the mud.
I dropped my physics class and told everyone I’m a pyro
And I’m still not quite done with that last
Guy I spent the night with
And I’ll never be as high with anyone else
As I was with dell but I didn’t call him dell
When we were together
But I never understood people when they said they could remember a touch
Until I felt his thick palms four days after he left
And when he said he wasn’t coming
I ate a strawberry
And tasted nothing
And I haven’t eaten fruit since
And I haven’t made sense 10 days before he left
Now I’m way past losing track of who left last
And now I wear lipstick
With a disclaimer
when I dropped him,
I shattered.
Translation, no mans pleased me since.
But I’d like to watch you try.
So, your last name?
Do you have any pets?
Can you be with a woman you’ll never be able to please?
Ken Pepiton Jan 2023
Charming-tempering, same t'me
shine it all on and laugh - just laugh
like nothin' or nobody, -just laugh like U
Being placed, perfect as a crystal,
pointing
at the causal phase, shifting position
spine serpent stretch wetdog shiver,
toe wiggle heel rolls focus read
local order as close
to smooth as smooth
does tend to be
in crystaline stonefacings
------- otium -no sorrowitit, none
Arms down. Study war no more
-------- the word, neg-otium opposes,
usury
as time is money, otium accepts time,
one by one, dear reader roles renew,
as emptied, swept clean,
whistle, and find the birder,
cruel birder liming the mulberry,

whither the spirit was said to say yes,
to what the prophet promised.

I could do that.
Where I live, I could offer fleeces,
for folk who know the right thing,
but need a sign,
that
is
what
Gideon is, in the Bible and its sources.
An ensample,
a hero to judge by, some of what he did,
well, he was not saved, so, what can ya say.

Shoulda read Steinbeck, more and
Steinbacher less {The Child Seducers 1974}


The soft life, never taking up arms,
never losing everything,
struggling, some times for minutes,
hours, days, weeks, months…

years, decades, if you count upping
from flat, lowest low a man can go,
no money, no means, no rare talent
to sell, no helpful uncle with a business,
selling chotskis, laundering cash,
selling art to hold such whited money

Building grand extended universities,
certifying sticktoitifity tested and ranked,

draft picks, in the game, good old chums
bet with, each owner of a team, seems
above us all, too far to wish to be, really

if you have reached a pleasant enough
spacetimemind encompassing interesting time.

Sorting sales pitch from product performance.
Every body must get ******, by all those who
never missed the mark,
hell, they never allowed the story told whole,

caused, most assuredly,
by heads of states, human crystaline structures,
held in touch, kept in constant we mind,
for the people,
for the lost,
for the rich… who lead us toward good just wars,
to settle trade deficit disputes,
by all rights granted priests, to anoint kings,
anointing, soothing balsam balm.
Those trees are gone, the village oath kept.
Set aside, sacred, set apart the holy, who
form the aspirations fed early flocks reformed,
oleo, for butter, it's better.
frogs fall in this fat, sizzle, sells it like anointed
deep fried chicken
under pressure
churches, ch ch changes, ur between ch
charges against the foe,
because the Queen said it must be done.
'their persevering valour and chivalrous devotion'

The British and French, in turn, saw Nicholas’s power grab as a danger to their trade routes, and were determined to stop him.

The spark that set off the war was religious tension between Catholics and the Orthodox believers, including Russians, over access to Jerusalem and other places under Turkish rule that were considered sacred by both Christian sects.

From <https://www.history.com/topics/british-history/crimean-war>

Back to Radioman, during one of these days

From going up and down
on the face of the earth
the prosecutor brought witness, face to face,
as one abstracted
from the host, all the sons of God,
- the devil's in the details
the real mind behind the JWST, allowing any
with seeing eyes,
to see as far as any human in ever, has ever seen.
Elucidation, light, where none was known to be.
{had me at Gobekli Tepi} wiseasany, se si
Is this not the truth loosing locked visions,
as all the minds involved
in the current global wedom,
we, each thinking individually,
at the point
of being you, deepest sorrow, highest joy, exper-
i-ence, me the imaginary number, clickt
science if cient
to snap
a tense, taut, tight, too high to hear, note
of dispairing singularities, wedoms,

crumble, leaving you,
there alone, wondering, if wondering is worth
any time, taken
from your ever
upto
when

words, writhed, deep as wonder, once,
as a child, on track to experience,
Mr. Toad's Wild Ride, when Disneyland cost $3…

Today all who paid $3 still say it was worth it.
At the time.

--- Ma Joad said

"Lots of things against the law,
we cain't help adoin',"

some laws make means and meaning,
seem too much for mere mortal,
to imagine,
the smart ones, we imagine, they
was aknowin' all the perfect will
of a god
who used a few real learned men,
to round up all the pieces,
of the nation we was, were,

when we were the only chosen to survive,
as far as we could see,
at the time,

I alone was left to tell thee,
each time, providence left one messenger,

go tell the man enlisted to proof the whole
mind of man used to do what seems right,
-proof it
behave have and hold being had, by holding
us, the we we would die for, that we,

is free, but from fear, and most fear is tied
to lies about a meaner than hell God.

And that lie fails, about the time,
you up and ask your father, what
is tempting about stupidity,

worship and praise, glory and honor,
for attaining mind numbing skill,
in will worth- pulled taut on all sides,
and your bit

your one eight billionth, hangs by this thread.

It hurts to feel another's pain,
to feel it in vain, hurts worse,
to not stop
and think, full selah, sit and wait,
real people
hurt
when the bubbles pop.
Some others win, like,
there was no bubble, so this
is as real as any angel ever sent,
to find the cause, the pain, signals,
some ongoing cause, a burr,
a sharp, broken edge, a piercing barb.

A broken river bank, hold sand filled bags,…


Floods of wish I was, wish I was
floods
of wish I was, wash me on
down
the drain, by and by, by and by,

we reach the wetland preserves,

and most any kind
of disney-designed hook, spooky
place,
make believe
is the happiest place on Earth,

make 'em all believe,
yeah,
but
something broke, boss, we adrift.

--- it's dramatic, audience wide angst,

we make old men weep,
then
we know their kids shall not forget,
that
once when Dad broke, and he was
screaming

every thing I did, I did for a lie!

--- yeh, drama, we all got drama,
we come to see where Jesus was stayin',

the next day, whither he had been led,
it is said, by the spirit, in English

--- None of me, experienced the Seventies, that is
on TV… so, I must not have been there,

that's what I am saying,
I prove me to me, as I take my measure,
imagining
stretching that first point, eh, you know,
the point of any thing
the point of you,
piercing every thing, and the augmentation,
mental re-co-owning knowing used right,

once before, when we were thinkinking Dharma,
thinkinking the plot, yes, yesh, si da
not drama, Dharma, got it… rolling
we manifest best in the instant, that
we both knew, we co-knew, we re-co-gnosticated.

Mindtimespace rushes at us.
Poetically, not prophetically.

The game believers make evangelists, to play,
as pawns,
and we all know this game, most better than
many know the first reason to ever play go.

A tale, certainly, but only by the surrounded
resources rule, the living using up the dead,

and the tendency to chaos looses all hell,
for a season, some say, a thousand years,
and more say some,
learned in the kino, kiva cinema, state theater,
{Kingman, in Arizona, the 48th star, so State
hood- Thus State Theater 25 cent matinees
6x8 or 8x6, how's it hangin'
stripes below
or to the left, like from a balcony, Old Glory.
Privilege it was,
to a child from sixth grade, to serve,
in the daily flag furling and final folding,
at the first and last bells.
Routine as was the Pledge and faithful fold,
each fold with a moral - added at funerals,
-you learned that late in life, really, then

Noon was signaled by the air raid siren,
traditionally, for how long?
I can't recall knowing
it ever stopped sounding at noon, to train time.

I had some friends one season, late high school,
through the first few months stateside, yeah,
what's with the hippyshitsfirst thing, every time,

Sgt. Whykill, meet Pyro, we all three served,
with Puso Perez, and Kid Wesley, and Tom Green,
and Wierder Harold, the radar guy…

SO, Pyro, what brings you to mind? Gotta point?
Hippyshit. Yeah, 'made my peace, knowmsayin?

Jesus remains, just alright, aight, a we, we form, agree,
or deem me the fool. And he the liar, and you

bought your map from a comedian,
on youtube, working in context of attention callibration
sigh and think it so SYTF, too true to retell,
but where there's a will to prove God's right use
of Hellfire and brimstone, hit me,
as my friend Johnny Whykill,
Forcer Recon, Airborne Ranger, Security for Leon Spinks,
who has not walked, since,
oh some time, around Obama, maybe, today, le'methinks

So, Sergeant Whykill, what did you and Pyro,
adjust to hook now and then in my book of life,
one point last total loss.

Here we are having what has been termed,
one hell of a good day, as when what the hell,
became what th'phucghk ai choke joke human element
in audio, we aspire to number in the first eight billion,
ai audiobook epic poetry reading to Warhol movies,
on eight year loops…
and so it is, dear friends, we bid thee fare, well as you may
wish the rule were otherwise,
it isn't currents reoccur, same clouds come and go,
the throbbing beat
means life, has a next minute, you dead, you think.

Shoulda been, not morbidly, just
why not me, why those others, each killer turn,
mark twain say turn they still calling ramming speed…

selah, when
ever when one frames a mind to filter on patterns,
this one, the mindtimespace constructs using these,
give one
a very pleasant, yes, please all granted, all thanks accepted,
all the glory goes to god, Your call, think a name,
bet me, this atmosphere, as we live and breathe, one name

sh- listen, hippyshitgoneguru, oh K'we got at linkmlook


CAN and do or may and do we not know so much less
rationally

relative to today, starting all day ago, and I am fine,
thanks,
for asking… Pyro, met Johnny Why. and they had
a sheershitshow, Pyro having been named pre-Nam,

this is all after, this entire sheltering structure,
think Chatahoolic said right, deep shelters upslope,
dug from softer tufa stone, layers of ash weight
long after the last aligning tides pulled life from higher

than the last high-water mark,
you see,
that is my east horizon, Arizona is my back yard,
this is like heaven to, me and when I sleep I sleep,
I have not dreamed in years.
Having a bag, a bundle of knowing, shown worthy
of some spec of attention,
by riverminers someday riverwisemen say, someday.

Drift away, weigh my day, sweet dreams, if you do.
no where else to go, worth the trouble to find
Amy Leigh Sep 2015
I've always put my lovers
into a pen

Fuel for fire
Ink for words.

But no,
Those were not love
Not like this

For this is love:
the fire itself
and it has burned away all my pages;
previous chapters, titles and cover
Stripped bare
As it should

So here I stand in this raw rarity,
Speechless
While it burns and
burns and
burns

And I have never been happier
To  watch flames
grow higher.
I have never been happier
To feel your warmth.

© A. Leigh
Frank Nov 2014
I have seen the great pyro minds
manically set themselves alight,
a nightly burn that glows with
shotgun epiphanies,
masturbatory madness
and affectionate fights.
Exhaustion eventually extinguishes
and they awake as ashes
in the introspective sunlight.

A daily process of life and death,
a cerebral freeze and thaw
that cracks the skull
and punctuates all the *******
that comes with being alive.
Sarah Myrth Apr 2016
“To rise from the ashes,
first we must burn.”

I am trying to plant flowers.

To sprout them right out of my
Hands toes eyelashes nose and
Leave them with everything
I touch in the world.

I wish to be perpetually blooming,
But I can’t grow anything at all,
Except a sparse **** or two
From my weary war torn body
Exhausted from the calamities
Of a long fought battle.

I am fascinated with
The *intoxicating
idea
Of destroying myself.
Burning,
Ever so elegantly,
Into a sparkling dust
To nourish new flowers
I could never become
On my own

Daydreams of a Pyro-Botanist
Are equally consumed
With blooming and burning.
  
I keep setting myself on fire and
Waiting for someone to douse my flames
Before I burn myself to the ground.
Mystery Girl Feb 2016
You set fire to my soul
When I thought I was lost
Brightened my whole world
Warmed every square inch
Of my ice block heart
You thawed me inside out
Put a light in my eyes
The sparkle I thought I lost
Then burned the whole thing
Threw it in the flames
They destroyed me
I went up in flames
Charring my once thawed heart
Burning it to a crisp
Unsalvageable
You lit a match and
Dropped it in the gasoline
Igniting everything
Like the pyromaniac you are
From day one he was trouble
His parents knew on sight
Their bundle of pure joy and bliss
Was somehow, just not right

It wasn't in his nature
To be part of a gang
He like to be off by himself
He liked things that went bang

He was troubled in his school years
Never getting real good marks
He didn't get along with other
He was burning caps and making sparks

But when this boy found fire
Well, then....his world became real small
Never mind the big explosions
He would go and burn them all

Small fires set in dumpsters
Behind the shops, by where he ran
He'd set fire to the garbages
While he trapped a cat inside the can

He progressed on up to buildings
Made that jump, in one big way
He torched a crack house, all abandoned
Buy using gas and old, dry hay

But, the thrill was not a keeper
It wore off as fast as it arrived
He had to extend the feeling
That made his body feel alive

He knew to see his fires
He would have to volunteer
First he would go set them
Then, help put them out...I fear

It was a stroke of pyro genius
He'd set them and he'd put them out
He'd learn what gave them trouble
And he'd give them more without a doubt

He never killed another
Never burnt a persons home
He always set his fires
Where buildings always stood alone

They caught him late September
He'd burned a building late one night
It was supposed to be abandoned
But, was full of squatters, out of sight

The picture, it was famous
A hippie shaking someone's hand
It was on the front page of the paper
And it was shown through out the land

A fingerprint was lifted
A switch, that burned, not like it should
And from there, it was no problem
To lock this boy away for good

He was sent away to prison
He was gonna die there, bet on that
And on his first day in that prison
He saw an old man, who just sat

Sitting in the corner
by himself, no one around
Sat a man, all old and wrinkled
Lips were moving, but no sound

Came forth from this man's mouth,
his lips all cracked and dry,
You could stand right there and listen
And hear nothing if you tried...
For Eileen, who asked about why the second man was in prison. Here's his story Eileen...hope you enjoy it.
Marsh Aug 2020
Living in a world of stone
Darkness all around
Constant threats making you alone
Chains of hate keeping you bound

Then you heard her cries
A women of beauty
Suddenly you didn’t want to die
Deep in your heart you had found your duty

Protect the girl is what you told yourself
This girl was tantalizing and sweetness incarnate
She needed protection, nothing else
But her hair and eyes made those borders evaporate

Talking over and over
Spending days with this fair elf
A girl with skills that made her a charmer
But surely you couldn’t actually love her

Your a monster plain and simple
Every time you leave your throne of stone
Whenever they insult, you just crumple
Hiding away in the dark trying to atone

You failed before
So why wouldn’t you again
Give her back monster
You will hurt her

We are knights of a valiant order
Trusted heroes of the realm
She’ll be safe under our banner
Evil cannot penetrate our helm

Monster please come back
You were my only friend
They’re gonna execute this pyromaniac
I’m just like you monster, i’m a fiend

These knights tried to **** me
And defile my purity
But you saved me from them
Please rescue me, you were the only one that made me comfy

Time is running out my sweet orc
The axe shall soon strike
As these tears drip down my face
I can be happy that you loved me for not being ladylike

I’m not a monster
I remember who I was
All my honor was lost in the war along with my brothers
A knight of the realm who respected all laws

But I wasn’t human
An order of orc knights had to be erased from history
I survived and was scarred in mind and body
Adrift in the dark until I met that maiden

It’s alright now my little pyro
Me and you shall live together
No monster or fiend
A little elf saved from the guillotine

I love you orc
And I love you pyro
Should we run away?
Only if we do it together
A little bit of love?
Antipodean Dec 2014
Climb aboard the Paper Airplane Express
Let’s fly to far away destinations
Where we land is random, it can’t be guessed
We have no preconceived expectations

Wings hand crafted by tiny artisans
Powered by adolescent dreams that ignite
Bright eyed smiles, marking the serene occasion
Of each and every planes inaugural flight

Hop aboard the Paper Airplane Express
No two planes are alike, each is unique
And not every flight is a success
But we can re-launch after a simple tweak

As our pilots aren’t allowed to play with matches
To date none of our planes have caught on fire
Though we have seen quite a few crashes
And apparently that little pyro bobby just made me a liar
Danash DelGotto Sep 2022
She held the darkness like a dancer
Holds tightly to the other
She held spark and fire - a pyromancer
The flames whipped around her

As She spun with her love
The only thing that made her feel alive
the flames were her lover - they fit like a glove
Her risky tryst that few would survive

As people watched on in awe
this violent passion - that lit up the night
Wrapped her in the warmth of its claw
They stood wide eyed in its beauty and fright

Her masterful art and the sway of the rhythm
left them exuberant as she seemed so defiant
To the heat of her craft - she cracked the algorithm
As the flames swayed around her - completely compliant

It followed her will - it would not consume
It was Chaos and law, Confusion and clarity
It could point to the wisdom of life and doom
She was a jewel in the heat - truly a rarity

She collapsed to her knees fast to the sand
Twin flames on  a ball on the end of a chain
That she pulled with each hand
Which Wrapped about her neck and back again

The fire didn't singe but caressed her face
Then sparks flew up to the stars above
Fire hit the ground followed by dark embrace
Silence was her applause -
as she extinguished her love.
J R Oct 2013
To love a flame
It is to know
Her teasing dance
And fickle glow
They make for such a stunning show
Eventually you'll burn
Emma Jan 2015
Loving him was like
lighting a candle
I was a pyromaniac
addicted to the sight
of seeing him burn with passion
of smelling his splendor
I was lost in love with the victim
of my lethal affections
Him.
xander Nov 2013
tires and kerosene
rubber to skin
here eyes speak of death
and he's the willing victim

fist and stones
tars and feathers
a shameless walk
for the heart he chose

mob marching
rope's burning
vultures waiting
the world is hers for the taking

skulls and bones
tears and moans
the guilty screams
for the burning love untold
AprilDawn Jul 2014
lights my fire
every log placed just
right
stoked with attention
to detail
those wild  flames
  in your eyes
speak volumes
loves and lives
lost and found
a kind face
eventually embraced
by the golden red glow
of burning embers
and sticky sweet
 melted marshmallow
fingers
This was written the other  day  , and it is about my  fiance . His time in the boy scouts   makes  his  fire building skills  excellent. I have  a picture of him over a fire  with the flames   making this awesome  shot  from a trip to  several years ago  we took, and subsequent pictures of other fires  he has made  that brought about this  poem.
Day Oct 2018
my lover
did not
hurt me

he
made me
oh, so wet

doused me
d r e n c h e d me
in kerosene

eyes flickered
as he
lit the match

quivered
in my
quirky way

and
found myself
A L I V E

my lover
did not
hurt me

when
he set me
on fire

i cry not
for
this beginning

but
this heart
is scared

s̶h̶e̶ ̶k̶n̶o̶w̶s̶

flames
i n e v i t a b l y
burn out
Anna Nov 2013
i like to play with fire
but that of a different kind
the one that engulf bridges
to light the nighttime sky.
Lauren Leal Mar 2016
People who say love is beautiful have either never experienced it,
or are indeed pyromaniacs.
Love is chaos, not the beautiful kind.
Robert C Howard Jul 2016
" It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews,
            Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and  
                Illuminations from one End of this Continent
                      to the other from this Time forward forever more.”
      John Adams – July 3, 1776.

Webster Groves - 2016

The Townhall fountain dances
cheerily in the morning sun.
The red-white-blue shirted crowd
rises as one for the colors.
Laughing children scramble for
tootsie rolls and sweet tarts
tossed by a strolling  clown.

         Philadelphia, July 3, 1776

        Carriages sped toward Philadelphia
        where resolute patriots
        would turn the pages of history
        and tell an unsuspecting world
        that a new nation had given birth to itself.


Sousa strains peal from the marching Statesmen,
Girl Scouts guide their well-groomed mounts -
hooves echoing through concrete caverns.
Vintage firetrucks and autos
sound their horns and sirens
as candidates work the crowd, pressing the flesh.

        Each crass insult from the British crown
        had tightened the noose on the colonial neck.
        The middle ground was soaked with patriot blood
        and revolution was the only course left.


Barbecue clouds drift over Pat and Lee’s farm
Horseshoes spin and clang and frisbees fly.
A ***-luck feast with beans and franks
interrupts the pop and glare of bottle rockets.

        One by one, each patriot quilled the parchment
        resolved to endure the costs of liberty -
        knowing to the marrow that defeat
        would spell certain ******* and death.


We reach the lakeshore at dusk -
unfolding chairs - spreading out blankets -
strains of Americana drift over the lake.
then a pyro-technic extravaganza
blazes across the summer sky.  

        Washingon’s tattered and bloodied men
        cornered Cornwallis at Yorktown.
        Then surrender - all British claims
        to American soil banished to the tomes of history.


The grand finale pummels the darkened sky
raising cheers and whistles from the crowd
Toddlers collapse in parental arms,
car doors slam, engines ignite
and head-lighted caravans, turn for home,
spiraling off in every compass degree.

“Happy birthday,” America and endless happy returns
"from this time forward forever more!”  

Robert Charles Howard
Levi Andrew Oct 2014
You sound like a crazy pyro-maniac.
That's all too true.
Funny.
How midnight skies turn blue.
And you're too busy setting this world on fire.
You're inner demons are shining through.  
Just grow up.
And be you.
Don't let other people catch you.
BE YOURSELF.
*Not someone else.
Laura P Apr 2020
Do not go gently into the night,
Do not tell me what I can’t,
For I’m like fire.

I will rise again...
Lexander J Apr 2015
From within a blackened heart
spawns madnesses twisted Invictus,
a severed head sat atop a plinth, filled
with decaying thoughts of cyanide and citrus,

completely crazy, inverted, perverted,
infected with an insanity that dances from the eyes -
pouting lips tempestuous and alluring
from the tip of a tongue he sews insidious lies,

roosting upon the bleeding emotions of others
a vile disassociation sanity can't pertain,
charred lips from suckling the ******* of Hell
the back-broke miracle nature refuses to explain,

exhaling noxious fumes, a pyro-manic incense,
one soul re-arranged, deranged and blisteringly intense;

so much so, it disgusts me beyond words -

so kick the rotten apple,

watch the maggots writhe within thou sour curds.
Maria Etre Mar 2018
Your flame
scares those
who are
afraid of matches
ask me
I've been
burned before
it usually
ends
with a passionate
red
scar
Lisa Barbero May 2016
Our bed is the prayer rug where I found God.

Yeah, THE God –

Not circumnavigating morality
Or bones of old saints
Lonely illusions of the sad and middle-aged
All Fat Tuesday freakshows in comparison

Our bed is the altar of sacred rites –

Marked with the devil’s ******* Sharpie
And the intricately crocheted lace of sin
Nightly baptized in warm, honey-coated nothing
Pink patterns of iron and salt on linen

Painted idols on the shrine –

Absolution pours through drafty windows
Older than our bodies
Glass frosted by years without suds
Only rain

A holy city of yours and mine –

With gentle pyro ways
Stone and mortar become flame
The balustrades collapse
You light candlewicks with your fingertips
1.16.12 | Lisa Barbero (LB)
cameran Mar 2014
As his warm hand met mine,
we sparked a fire to keep warm.
That fire gasped for air,
and grew twice in size,
until it consumed our hearts,
and our minds.

We were no longer a spark,
but instead a colossal wildfire.
"I'm not a pyromaniac, just a hopeless romantic."
Killing robots is fun
spending time going through the waves
all the noise of machines around
then that one noob joins
who goes pyro with backburner
i say kick him so we do
then a gibus ****** joins
we say *** go back to boot camp
so he does
and then a scout joins
we start the wave
he misses 102 credits
kick that guy too
then "he" joins
412 tours and unusual hats
australium weapons shining in our faces
we go through the waves
and win
hooray for us
we get robot parts
and killstreak fabricators
then that one guy
xXSniperPro69Xx
gets
Viseract Mar 2016
With an all-consuming fire,
He pulls out his lighter.
A little flame of hope
For a hopeless little pyro
I am writing a story about a pyromaniac at the moment. Guess what it's called? Inferno. How typical of me, so original
JJ Hutton Apr 2011
I turn off the phone,
throw the television set
against the wall,
a knife of the electronic
debris cuts into me,
as my cheek begins to bleed,
I scour the shelves for the
whiskey I need--
I cleanse my wound,
and douse your former future groom,
I hit play,
find a hit melody
to take me marching through the parade--
my hands feel perfectly pyro
as the match sweetly scathes,
in the morning I will wake to find peace--
for now, I'll close my lids
and
dance in my own flames.
Cosmogony of My Emotions: Teleological Theosophy of My Personal Theology
Death cannot defined. Being of ultimate consequence it is above causation, yet reigns supreme as an effect. It can only be affined: Aqua, Ignis, Terra, Ventus , Umbra, Lucem/ Hydro, Pyro, Gaia, Aero, Erebus, Aether, all swirl in dead languages spoke a thousand years ago yet they all have been read by our generation in our youth.
The veil of death is a tabernacle in which only the high priest returns from walking, all others are drug back rope around their solar plexus. All paths of death are two fold.
First, from the feet of the Teleologic Cosmos of Emotion we grow towards the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit. From the abyss we stare at the knees of the concave exterior of healing. Like the twins of June, hate and pain, are the two closest modes to death, but not the most direct. I feel fear is the ultimate neighbor of death. The flow of Consciousness lies first in the womb. Concealed from the light, darkness sheilds us from the illusion of Illumination. Hate feeds into pain as Pain feeds into hate, like a sibling rivalry. The knees (pain and hate) bend not to cushion the feet (death) but to stop the pelvis (fear) from shattering under the weight of the back bone (Stillness).
Adapted to the new ways of my mother's demon of lust wedding sloth and gluttony. Sin is the seat of unconscious control, or lack there of like a drunk blacked out asleep, already anticipating his next drink. Hate is Ache followed by ate. Pain and hunger are two sides of the same page. What can I say, everything happens for a reason. Even if I feel it was treason yet I'm no regal prince, nor a Mercury lying closest to the Solar, I drenched myself in my own masochism: physically mentally spiritually, and had done so for years. The basis of your emergency alert was quite founded, yet not without ignorance. Yet to me, you felt i was going to rise through fear to descend into pain and find my new year 25th, death. But the beauty is in my birth with one hair on my head I left the manger a man, no wig, feeling for the first time while the police speak to my mother searching like the warriors dispatched of Herod. My blood spirit is free, having saved Adam through the pyramid  I dethrone Satan by the sip of the crown of the feathered serpent. Yet you hate he who fell. I fear the vile nature of the burning fields respecting the ignitor of the flames as the sole cause of err that lead or Savior to accomplish who no one else could. For without the fall of the unholy, wingless, cut from tip to tip, Iesus-Yeshua-Judah would not be your most beloved. Without the pain of Christos (the annointed), Khristos (the enlightened) would not achieve ideology of the cosmos. Pain rises to fear shortly, and shifts into hate in confusion as siblings squabble, as I had done internally for a decade. Yet through the gift of the heart heavenly Saul is able to see the life lesson to use the lower part of our mind to find the Big Blue. Pain ascends into love if and only if death can bounce like glue. If you aim for the Sun and the Moon you can only be a child of astronomy, yet you showed me my dreams to buy you a ring of Saturn and hand it to you on a Sunday. I believed my pain laid plain and bare could convince you of you're convictions. My mission in the deepest recesses of body was for you to give into your fears so we could slip into the underworld of sin sipping red wine until the mounring in my heart rose Rex by the fading starlight. I dream to live a lye, basic as alkaline, I wished to be a battery. I saw myself freed of my woman battering heritage ceasing the cyclic self fear that posited the ferocity of my fore fathers, due to the love of a woman most beloved and true. I felt you could be the instrument to my Burning Lyre, my love Plutonic I felt my crow caw. As I held you in my arms singing with you in harmony, setting the bond between the viscous cycle of Pain, paying dues with Hate, to rise like smoke to face fear starring death in the face like a shadow below. The night sky black with how to Know, twinkling with the star light of Love. Only above the vault of heavens clung Joy, Hope, and Live.
Without poeticizing further, what I term the Basement of Abasment consists of Death at the roots (red inverted triangle) rising into Hate (orange w/ red center) and Pain (tan w/ red center), with the connection of Pain and Hate forming a cross with the direct bond between death and fear (yellow w/ small red center).
Proceeding up the towards the chain of being, leads to what I call the equator of emotions. Cling/stillness/resolve is the grey region connecting all body's of feelings as the Moses, the leader of the Exodus and the appellation of the celestial globe. It binds Love and Know laterally to one another, while connecting the Vault of Virtue to the Basement of Abasement.
Lily Morrison Dec 2012
I was the pyro that never got burned.
The euphoria brought by you was inevitable.
One gaze is all it took to ignite this passion,
A false dream fueled the fire.
The flirtatious dancing flames had me mesmerized.
I was drawn.
There was no escaping.
The flames had risen.
Dangerous,
No lo longer alluring but it was too late.
I was caught like a fly is to a spider’s web.
I was roasting in the pit.
My passion had me burning in the flames.
There was no escaping them.
I played with fire and I got burned.
Valerie Csorba Feb 2014
Here I am, consciously putting your puzzle piece heart back together because someone played the gambler and bet on your blood only to lose because you found out the game that was going on quicker than your host expected and they dropped your vessel like the glass trinket that it is and it shattered to pieces as it met with the ground. Harlotry is the game she started and didn't know how to quit, her mind seemed confused as well as her chest that seemed to be made cold as ice and black as night.
Here I am doing my best to show you how much I care, how much emotion is there in my heart waiting to be shared, to be left in your arms as the truth that it is, to be reflected in your eyes as the things I see, for I love you that much. I could stay with your help if you wanted me to, and could stare at the smile that I caused for you. Now here I breathe like it's not in my nature because of riggers of passion and moments of pleasure.
We could spread your beauty like a rumour that stays, like an illness that's healthy in odd kinds of ways. We can burn things together like pyro-addicted lovers and laugh in the faces of stupidity of others. And the places we stand will be all but cherished for our bitter facade has all but perished from the lives of those that treat us like **** in this evil world that's hell in a pit of a fruit of the universe that no one would pick for differences that express just how much that it ***** even for those with an Irishman's luck.
So here your faith shatters as mine did too and remembrance and patience are again a virtue that not many have because this world tore them down like a natur-istic thing that survives with a frown. And I love you so much I've faith in you, only you, and the things you may do for the hope that humanity will change one day and be more like you.
For Orion.
Ben Jan 2014
You are the moon of mine,
Illuminating my prison,
An astral prison that I built myself,
To remind me your presence in the night sky.

You are the supernova of mine,
Unleashing bright lights like pyro,
Until it becomes the shape of a monster,
Petrifying but amazing at the same time.

Unfortunately I am just the dust,
Floating freely within the universe,
Struggling to be noticed by the moon,
Hoping for the light so I can be seen.

The sun's whispering to me,
"you are a dead matter" .
Koty Peter Aug 2012
This was just the stanza,
This was just the line.
This was just the song for the girl, by the guy.
This was just the stanza,
This was just the line,
You were just a girl, I was just a boy.

Oh,
That was the first time,
I'd ever been so nervous and excited,
All at the same moment.
All at the same moment.
And oh that was the first time,
I'd ever wrote a song about a girl,
With eyes that are
Half as bright as yours are.
Half as bright as yours are.

And all I really know
Is I just wanna be the guy you,
Turn to when your world is on fire.
And all I really know,
Is something I've got to tell you,
You never leave my thoughts when I'm not around you.

And I won't give up,
Because I know that I won't,
Get a chance like this for another lifetime.
And I won't give up,
Until I've tried my hardest.
In times like this,
Failures not an option.
I'm looking at,
Exactly what I've always wanted.

"What's wrong with that boy walking slowly through town?"
"He fell in love with a pyro,
And she burned his house down."
I'm made of paper, pages and stanzas.
A love fueled by lighters, kerosene and match sticks.

And all I really know
Is I just wanna be the guy you,
Turn to when your world is on fire.
And all I really know,
Is something I've got to tell you,
You never leave my thoughts when I'm not around you.
Venus Rose Vibes Apr 2013
Creepy crawls down the spine
A presence lurks behind
Chill bumps raise as cool night air flows inward
Melodramatic sigh releases the pyro
Pull down and toss the curtains into a limp pile
Set fire to burn the ***** down in vain
Madame Eleanor May 2015
He's fire-
With flames ever soaring,
My heart they're engulfing-
Destroy everything around.
He burns me away
And I love the pain.
I scream and the fire swallows it down.
He devours me whole
And scorches my soul.
God it hurts-
But I want more.

You're the rain.
I ride out your storms
Because inside I'm torn
On whether or not I should stay.
When it burns and I'm all dried out and alone
You send me a shower of love and of home.
Sometimes you trickle down softly,
So comforting,
But sometimes you leave me with a drought
and I'm prone to fire.
When you're gone too long I build my funeral pyre.

I love the rain but I'm enchanted by flames.
One soothes and washes away the pain,
The other will **** me-
I'm sure of this.
But the burning is such awful bliss.

Turn me to ash and I'll smile as I fade away into nothing,
Yet I complain to you that I'm drowning.
This is what I wanted.
To be quenched.
But I'm a pyro and I'm making a habit of it.

God bring me a storm and I'll dance in it.
Love, rain once again and I'll get my hair wet.
Because I don't need fire, it's dangerous.
But I love the rain for all its nourishment.
Extended metaphor about two men- one like fire and one like rain.
KM Aug 2013
My beautiful mother just called me
And said so kindly, "her little pyro"
But oh if only she had a clue
Of the fire that burns within me also

Sometimes it's a subtle mellow flame
And other times a forest fire rages
My sweltering heart cannot be touched
Except for with him, the fire disengages

For so long the fire inside me was kindled
Burning up the things that upset me
I never saw the affect it had on what I loved
Till I was worn thin and my fire let me free

I was all burnt up and left charred from my faults
When a refreshing rain cloud hovered nearby
No hatred, guilt, fear or sadness was left upon me
And suddenly that rain cloud was my entire sky
8/23-24/2013

— The End —