A lighter in my hand
Cigarette in the other

My mouth hurts like knives
And my stomach eats at my insides

The tiny stick catches flame
And smoke rises with my pain

I inhale the relief and waste
And whatever else it contains

It’s a tiny minute fire
Like my dying desire

To die in a six foot deep ditch
With nothing but my pack of cigarettes

And a busted overused lighter
I hope it catches my body on fire

When dirt covers my rotting corpse
And flora starts to grow

Don’t put a gravestone over me
For I do not have a name to be known

By the world the life and sun
It can’t get me anymore it can’t make me want to run

I hope flowers grow over my body despite the fumes
Like the smoke and soot that I consume

Why I keep the fire alive, I don’t know.
It wasn’t particularly strong,
or explosive.
You couldn’t have used it to fight any wars,
or heat a city.
From the outside, it was nothing special.
Destined to flare, flicker, then fade.
But to me,
it was soft and warm.
Just enough to keep a hope alive.
But what if that hope burns brighter?
Brighter than I could dream?
Maybe it’s not a hearth, strangled in the crib,
but a wildfire, being nursed to devastating force.
I don’t know. I guess an arsonist
is more interested in the lick of the flame
than its bite.
It’s selfish then;
keeping these embers a glow.
…I’m fine with that

his heart is a flaming fire
only she can quench it's desire

his chest is ardent
as if it contains the sun
their love can't be undone

Your lust like fire. Flames,
at my soul rip. Smoke, like love
through my fingers slip.

Two candles, side by side,
Arms of thread—their aid—
Wrapped around as they hug,
Gracious flames of burning shrug.

Two candles, side by side,
They burned and radiated light.
Hesitance grew as they stood;
They burned their thread—passionate mood.

One cried, the other raged.
Flames engulfed the fabric red.
Two candles, side by side—
A burning heart, in between, laid.

Smaller the candles grew,
Glory to the light they drew.
One burning, the other hides—
Two candles, held side by side.

Every little thing you do,
It lights me up.
Almost if I was a pool of oil,
That your passion set aflame,
I will burn each night and day.
So that the sun can never set,
On our lightning love.

love is supposed to be late night phone calls.
going out for dates anywhere, it didn't matter where as long as you were with them.
cuddling and movies.
kisses and laughter.
baking together when your bored.
smiled and stolen glances.
love is supposed to be soft and calm, like you were living in some sort of fairytale.
but that was not our love.
our love was yelling and screaming, just to make up for a few hours.
our love was burning skin because we couldn't keep our hands off each other, mad or happy.
our love was engraving our names into each other
our love was some sort of claim, we happily destroyed each other with passion.
our love was crying my eyes out at 2 in the morning because you left, you threatened and you'd come back.
our love was lies and truths and everything we didn't need to experience at such a young age.
you'd look at me and I'd melt in place.
our love was not soft or beautiful....
it was a wrecking ball covered in fire, destroying everything in it's path.... even us.

I am dirtied by the rain,
Awash with the remnants
Remains of the cleansed.
Scour each pore to take it in
Red, blistering, fever-pitched
I can still hear the harmonies
Tethered together, unified
All in a circle -
conflagrate and dance in a sea of flame.

I worry a lot,
And I know I need to stop,
But I can't just leave anxiety,
It's a human instinct inside of me.

I worry for your safety,
I worry for mine,
It's a cold world out there,
Without enough fire to keep us all warm.

So if you're struggling,
Please confide in me,
I worry so much for you,
For your happiness.

I live my life with a flaming heart—
a condition not of body
but of mind.

It wants to spread its fire
to every curve and every curl
I desire.