Tag Archives: fire

Baptism By Fire

Blink if you hear our signal
Our hands drip red with blood from clapping
When you hear the command
The sparrow ate our bread trails
Go east along this shadowed mountainside
If you wanna stay alive…

~*~

You stuck to the guns that grew behind your open back

I let you confuse me for a while, until you beat me black

But I still left all the pain between the spaces in my teeth

Picking barbed wire from my knuckles, I can’t even bleed

.

So now the party favour’s over, the running joke is getting old

I couldn’t even laugh at myself, you thought you had me so sold

But contempt is double-sided, their crude fence has collapsed

You’re nothing more than a brackish lie, a fast-forward relapse

.

But you stuck to the blunt razors you forged under your callused skin

When the devil beckoned you back, confident that you would finally win

But when I left my lacerations in the places you and the crowd could see

That was only for show and tell and the next one up in line is you, not me.

~*~

Well, you had pinched my arm to find light
And know that if this is real
I know how the emotion
Now I can’t sense when or if I get out
And I’m still wayside with myself…

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Catch Fire


ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ɴᴏ ᴠɪᴄᴛɪᴍ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀ ᴄᴇᴍᴇᴛᴇʀʏ
ʀᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʀɪᴠɪʟᴇɢᴇ
ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀʟʟ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ‘ᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ
ɪ’ᴍ ᴀ sᴡɪᴛᴄʜʙʟᴀᴅᴇ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴇᴀᴅʟɪɴᴇs
ᴀᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ ᴅʀɪᴠᴇ ᴀ sᴘɪᴋᴇ
ᴀ sᴘɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴛᴇᴀʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛᴇʀɴᴜᴍ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜʀ ғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ…


bodies burn like the sunrise aftermath of the destruction

your lies caused—fractured spines ripped apart and counted

with the notches in their fingers, just a sinner’s aggravation

blindly feeding the grand delusion of pure freedom into

the prison cells rusted with blatant injustice, as you plead

for your worthless life and try to prove you’re not a stigma

you have holes under your palms and feet but you can’t

convince the world that you’re the second coming of christ

he’s fucking dead like your family, like you, like the stability

you once had before you hacked away at it with a blunt axe

from your locked toolshed—you left them all for dead, did

you leave even just one splintered breath? a single dose

of comatose or even close would have been enough for

a plea conviction, but every degree was coldly violated

you’re too violent! send the sordid sentence for electrocution

right away tonight, families will sleep a little safer and the

streets spilled with less vomit and spit, the constables

rejoice in favour of another bigger shrimp to fry—did you

even say goodbye? when the glow from their dwindling vision

flickered into the end of the tunnel that you’re chasing, how did

the liquid rose taste when you splattered the shattered mirror

trying to get it off your hands, did you really think it would stay

there forever like the devil on your shoulder? digging in deeper and

deeper, that’s why you smile so crookedly, and the steel manacles

aren’t helping with your shambling gait, either. now, look at the iron

witnesses and the tear-stained grievers and the burly man by the switch

whose teeth is a nasty shade of nicotine brown, like your last meal that

has been as bland as the bible verses of bullshit being spewed by the pastor

holy water nearly drowns you but it can’t drown out all the crying, the

blindfold’s suffocating but the disillusions inside your mind are ever

spinning, chew the rubber wedged between your mouth in agitation

don’t let them smell the fear, don’t let them know you’re here, don’t—

enough with the drama. enough is enough. enough will be the end.

and if anyone dares to ask you now, tell them just one more stunning lie,

“i don’t fucking deserve this.” famous last words, the very tail end

interrupted by one sickening jolt as the entire world lights up for your crimes

and the body of a monster finally burns away into the final sunset’s demise.


ᴄᴜʀʙ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴜʀᴇ
ɢʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍs
ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴍᴇ
ᴛᴏ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜ ᴍᴇ ʙʟᴇᴇᴅ?


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Stranded

A decade’s worth of anger

But be frank, control your temper

Test the tidal tempest water

Weigh them down, be the anchor

.

Crash the rocks, losing colours

Know thyself and fuel the embers

Signal fire to blind the rancour

And above all else, never remember.

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heatseeker

heatseeker

form the flames

with your tongue

ashes to ashes

guns to guns

.

feel the wick

running down

fractured spines

gentle warmth

barely noticeable

.

all before the

final sound

of phosphate

crashing against

rougher edges

.

forms second

thoughts, the thrill

of reckless light

find your waxen lover

and i g n i t e

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24 – no doubt

through metal and fire

sinews of flesh interred

lost restraint and desire

pleading tongues left sold

.

“it hurts to keep it all in”

hurts even more to speak

i must look rather grim

but soon overdose will kick

.

against the side of my brain

and knock me out for good

concealing all cravenly stains

before i finish what i should

.

through liars and lighters

i flayed to search for some rest

so lay me down to agony

and hope the worst’s for the best.

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The Division

Let me count the ways you kill me;

1.) You carved promises at the notches of my brittle bones, mercilessly enthralling and hypnotising me under the anaesthetic assurance that everything was fine, that I was fine, and that I wouldn’t ever have to destroy myself again; but all the while, you crushed the very foundations beneath my suspended feet and made heaven shatter all around me like an ethereal motion sickness. And as if that wasn’t enough, you set everything on fire and watched this wretched phoenix turn to listless ashes, never to rise again; a demented conflagration.

2.) You promised me for better or for worse, but as I tried to find new names for the shade of red in my lips, you forgot about the obscene sickness that’s violently heaving inside my compromised chest and without so much as a twinge of second chances or point-blank hesitation, you injected every indistinct symptom known and unknown to man, turning my shaky breaths to crystalline lilacs and my selfish ribs to impure glass. I asked for a cure, and instead I received a despicable panacea, a myriad riot of plagues that irreparably devastated my system, ripping me to irreversible shreds. “You can’t get hurt if all you feel is hurt, right?”

3.) I’ve got hands like houses, and you rejected my severed hospitality as you broke down every locked door and deceptive boundary like it was nothing; like I was nothing. I constantly find myself lost in complicated syncopes, as I’m trapped spiraling and crawling back to the same self-sustaining cycles of parabolic grief and hypertensive schizophrenia, predicting premonitions that never came true. This eternal winter freezing over my bloodline is stitched together by a million blizzards and snowstorms conspiring exquisitely at once, but this difficult tantrum of a weather is not a tribulation to you, is it? Your cold temper is intolerable, a thousand suns melding together and detonating convulsively in the empty vacuum of space, and there’s no one else around to hear me scream one last time. I wanted to burn. You took it too far.

4.) Were you even sorry? Did you even feel a single taste of contrition when you watched my starving, pathetic soul grapple for life at the very nave of that decimated altar, asking for the silhouetted universe to fall on my back so that it wouldn’t be my fault, nor yours, that everything got screwed over? Did you see what I’ve done, just so I wouldn’t be what you’ve become? I couldn’t find my way back on the ground, so I swallowed my pride like pried coffin nails for the sake of a more poignant memory to remember; retribution heals what time cannot. Yet now I close my reckless eyes and softly coalesce in sadistic plumes of the miserable discourse you call an intravenous love, and I beg, and I beg. Were you even sorry at all?

5.) You are me, and I am you. I have no one. You are no one. When you lived, I died; and when you died, I along with you. I called it genocide. They called it desperation. For I am me, and you are you. There was no one else. They called it suicide. I call it salvation.

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in[flu]ence

I have the fever all warmed up

For the poor sick little head

They’ll cry as they sleep, though

Still refused to get out of bed

I’ve got the fever all warmed up

For the screaming of the choir

I only caused a quiet grey smoke

But he still sets himself on fire.

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Pretty Little Thing

Right before you fly you fix the broken wings of
Everything that carries you forward now
Patching up the holes remaining in your word now
I start to question what is real or not, pick apart my every thought
Dig in to a dark place, bury the thought of your face…

~*~

A wish to avoid a blatant lie

To a spine with broken bones

Waiting for retaliation in the

Shape of a forsaken home

.

As mirrors began to whisper

About the drama that unfolded

It all tasted like high tension

Keeping her weak wings faded

.

Fingers forward, burying blame

Twitching petals, her lavish name

Draped in linen, maiden serenity

Masquerading a sorrowful calamity

.

Of an oil painting melting away

In the warmth of this winter fire

Lost palettes ebbing and arching

An abandoned masterpiece dire

.

Grim faces arrested in quiet disgust

As snow fell and tainted mordant black

Onto the pallbearers dressed in drab

Carrying away an eternal chill in her heart.

~*~
Pretty little thing, you know the way to make me weak
But I’ll stand on my own feet
Shame on you for hitting where it most hurts
Shame on me for listening
Pretty little thing, I think you better turn away
My attention is ending…

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Arsonist

It feels like there’s a raging fire within my chest—

And I want it to burn everything inside and out

.

My lungs, my heart, my throat; I want it to replace my breathing,

Escape the confines of my ribcage and devour my skin whole

.

Swallow my reckless body as if I was nothing, and spit it out in faded ashes

And finally burn out like a last word at the tip of my nonexistent tongue.

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insensitive

today i slammed

my thick dumb head

on the hard concrete wall

until it bled and bled

because i was just bored

because i felt dead

because i’m too impatient

and made of pure lead

but it wasn’t as cool

so i moved on to needles

stab sharp pricks on my hand

as i made up a riddle

and the red lighter, it did

such an amazing job

it was quite a burn—literally

and these blisters i’ll have

for the rest of my life

just like the scars i made

all from yesterday and today

with the edge of my blade

no, i don’t like the abuse

i just like the pent-up violence

and if i had to take it out

better me than anyone else

so fucking call me masochistic

it’s not like i’d feel insulted

or maybe i will—try me

if that works, good job, friend

‘cause i’m just too numb

and the pain is only fun

when you stop caring about everything

and start aching for the gun.

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