light me on fire
set me ablaze
i let you fan me till i grow big
and swallow forests whole
nobody blames the arsonist
just the fire.

The mid noon sky bleeds out; it bruises in flames.
Arsonists hold their gassers to my face.
In their grisly field of vision, I am a delectable
vapor, born to flit away.
Regard not the orange cones, nor the caution tapes:
these gates hold little significance to them.

(Then the other 'a-word' comes to mind: anarchists)

Prior to this, they had presented themselves
as chess pieces to fall in love with—little do they know,
I've an animus for them. As stupid as I may appear,
I know it's a game!

Unzipping out of incognito mode, they have unleashed
their razor blade. They whizz their wings.
Here they come, coming for me.

Here I go again: counting sheep,
blinking for one whole eternity.

Oh doctor! I'm in dire need of your vampiric syringe.
Swill my peaking adrenaline— at this rate, I'll go mad.
I shall never recuperate.

Mollify my entirety.
Teach me to rollick like angels do. I beg you.

a dance, a waltz
captivatingly intense
like a dice being thrown
and the adrenaline of expense

what's more enthralling
to the onlooker's eye
than the blood red streamers
shooting up to the sky?

and what's on the mind
of a mad, callused arsonist's
other than the pleasure
of an embrace of a goddess?

my friend, its the chaos
and the rush of the game
its the sting of her arms
wrapping round once again

i had always romanticized thought of homocide. but in which way would i  have done it? i couldn’t be caught. that wouldn’t be the perfect ******. I’ve lived with four, but after my mother had locked eyes with me, and picked up the shovel, there were only three. id pondered many ways, the easiest to dispatch of was two. all except of me. i could’ve speared the rest, you’d never be too vigilante. pulling the trigger was an option, but they’d find the bullet. arson, a creative solution. i waited ‘til sundown. gasoline, every inch of the house. i entered my mother’s room, taking two lighters, and a matchbox. i lit three flames on the match, and threw at the house along with the lighters. i left. without taking any belongings. i moved far far away. finally, ive committed the perfect ******.

"i am so lame" i whisper to myself
after putting your flannel in the dryer
so that it would be as warm as it was when you gave it to me
fresh off your skin

your scent is waning, but i can still catch it
i wish i could hold it in my palms
because god knows it's my favourite smell in the world

i wear it until it get's cold again
but by then i'm already asleep

dreaming of you as i pretend you're holding me

my tongue isn’t
long enough
to reach all the places down your throat
it wants to touch

i’ll have to kiss your ribs
some other way