But the arsonist in a world of carpenters.
I’ve got matches at the salute,
wired blazoned between my every ashened knuckle,
heart beat furious
I’ll be this worlds iron furnace.
Their flames dance and sprawl
through flaunted finger
and slide of hand,
I’m the psychopath
and these flames children to command.
I dwindle fractured beaten to broken
hardly live to bless lips with breath.
I’ve but one choice,
to torch this world to a forever neverness
or stumble shadeless,
a shadow to brush past life to exist to view.
Always wishing to make a difference, to move, to make new.

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...

I am the prodigal daughter
of Hestia--
Goddess of hearth,
warmth,
embers that do not fade,
for they glow as softly
as lightning bugs.

But this time,
I will not be returning home.

Don't you see?

I've burned it down already.

Perhaps there shall exist no redemption
for my pyromanic sins.

They could not save
Sylvia Plath
as she ****** her head into the oven,
carbon monoxide stealing away
her last strands of breath.

(Sadness climbs up my throat in
stalagmites of flame,
rises from the chasm of my soul like bile,
like a phoenix reborn.)

They could not save
Joan of Arc,
whose flesh screamed out among
the ringlets of fire
and threads of cinder
that consumed it
so mercilessly.

(No, I am not a witch--
just a demi-goddess,
just a dangerous woman
But, unlike Joan of Arc,
I am no Saint either.)

They could not save Pompeii
whose inhabitants lay
victimized
asphyxiated
stolen
by the magma regurgitated by
the Almighty Vesuvius

(I cannot decide who I am
more similar to--
the inhabitants of Pompeii,
or the lava itself)

Perhaps then,
there is no saving a woman like me--
a woman forged from brimstone,
Hell's very own Femme Fatale.

I wear lighter fluid
atop my collar bone like its fragrance;
braid singed ribbon into my hair,
its ends charred and
curling upwards like tendrils of smoke;
rouge my lips with gunpowder.

Kiss me and
bite the bullet, darling--
make love to me
and you will combust.

But oh!

How these men will  bite their lip
at the thought of
******* me,
of dipping their fingertips
into the molten pools
that dwell between my thighs
similar to the way
a mere girl
(I, 16 years old)
is fascinated by the prospect
of baptizing her own melancholic
hands in candle wax.

(Who's the real ******* here, Baby?


Sincerely,
your Filthy Pyrophilliac.)


I am a
shadow charmer,
arsonist
the  Siren
of this Inferno
(wanted for her crimes).

Perhaps I was never the epitome of darkness,
perhaps I simply
lured the darkness towards me
(sorrow and the devil too.)

It's funny now that I think about it,
how the stars too reside in darkness,
how, when I wish upon them,
I am really only wishing on fire.

And where there is fire,
there is destruction;
it's no wonder all these dreams--
those of
love
magic
poetry--
have shuddered to ash.

Still, l I find myself making
snow angels in the ashes,
stick my tongue out,
let the remnants of desire
scorch my taste buds.

Here I lie
like an extinguished cigarette,
my use fulfilled and discarded.
But that's just fate,
stars ain't too fond
of nicotine, ya see,
ain't too fond of me
even though the very atoms
that comprise my being
are made of the stuff of galaxies.

But, oh, how these galaxies
have escaped my brooding grasp.

I do whatever it takes
to re-ignite what has been
lost--
chew on matchsticks,
let the splinters sear themselves
into my tongue;
lap at the iridescent gasoline puddles
that wade along
lonely streets corners;
howl beneath paper lanterns,
for both the sun and the moon
have forsaken me.

I do whatever it takes
to remember where I come from--
a state of limbo,
wherein I am simultaneously
angel (falling) |and| demon (the fallen)

What am I without flame?

Flame--
they could not save me from it,
from burning.

But perhaps the peril was never in burning;
perhaps it was in  burning out;
perhaps it was in disintegrating.

She is just an arsonist
Setting hearts on fire
Strike a match to her latest catch
Ash deep in desire

She is just an arsonist
Fanning hot the flames
Adding twigs in the shape of men
Burning each of them

She is just an arsonist
Destruction in her wake
Trial by fire burns hotter
If you're caught up in her blaze

so i guess this is it,
the end of forever;
no one could've seen this coming.
the separation of past, present, and future.

past:
a smile from you
could spawn
a kaleidoscope of monarchs
in the pit of my stomach.
i fell in love
with the way you rested your chin
upon my head,
we were invincible.
i could have laid in your arms
for years.
i would have.
i had enough hope to feed a village.

present:
you tell me
this was long overdue,
that we're past our prime,
but there's no expiration date
on the sound of your laughter.
how do i explain to you
there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
today i am a quiet shade of blue.

future:
people will ask me
what was loving him like?
and i will smile and say
it was as if
the sadness had never swept me
under the rug.
i will tell them
how i felt whole,
how you gave me something
to look forward to.
i will tell them
how you lit a fire in my chest
and evacuated only yourself.
no words,
no warning,
not even the butterflies
made it out alive.
i should have known this was coming
by the way you always reeked of smoke
and bad intentions.

you see,
i confused you for someone
who would hold my hand
when things got dark.

i just wish i had some closure.
j.c.

You’re an arsonist, baby.
You’re an arsonist, dabbling
in the arts of fire.
And love is your fuel.
My heart was inflamed.
You left me to smolder
But I stoke those flames
because I’m a pyromaniac.

Your flames licked at my flesh.
And I kinda liked it.
The heat, the burning,
I thrive off of it.
You’re an arsonist, baby,
and that’s okay.
Because I like the fire.
You lit me up, ignited
my thirst, my hunger,
my passion

I inhale your smoke.
Taking you in.
The smoke left me in a haze.
My vision, my thoughts,
all left unclear.
Your fire left nothing untouched.

You scorched my heart.
Consumed me. Refined me.
You sought to finish me off,
burning for you from within.

I tried to hide behind others.
Beneath their skin.
Not even grafts can hide
the damage done.
You left behind your mark,
on me.
Branded me with your ashes still visible.
Dose me in your precious love.
Open the flame. Light me
Up. I’m a dancing tongue of fire of your creation.
Watch me burn for you.
Watch me perish because of you.
Watch me love you with
Everything I am.

You’re an arsonist, baby.
And I’m a pyromaniac.
What’s the number for 911?
I need a firefighter.

There are always little sparks
Created through the friction of
Those two jagged flints though
Never enough to create fire on their own
Naturally, there needs to be a fuel.

Sometimes it’s tissue paper
Sometimes it’s gasoline
But as I’ve learned one way or another
There’ll always be flames between these
Chasms, valleys and gorges.

And the bridges built to cross between the two
Won’t always last. The raw energy will just
Wear away at some but the good ones stay.
Solid. Carved with rock and fortified with steel.
Like a scientist (or an arsonist)
I’ll test every. Single. One.

ants lean left more than right
it's true, it must be

i read it in Fox News

especially the red ones
that wear berets
like Che

the impertinent invertebrate
arsonist fire ants

who tend to get stepped on
by the man
who exterminates

according to anthropologists.

:)

you draw your self hatred out like a kid draws out small pictures
and play double dutch with the hands on a clock, knowing how
unsafe it is out there, flirting with death and flicking me off when
i wrote out the reasons why you should stay, that this autumn fallout
is only a misconstruction of your mind's witching hour, that dystopia
won't linger and utopia will be home soon, it will blossom into your lungs
and turn the simplicity of your broken soul into something completely
quintessential and complex, like an origami rabbit, i fold my sharp edges
and twist myself to be malleable and secure for you, maybe i'm not too certain
of myself or you, but i'm not too certain on a lot of subjects, i'm worried
of being thrown into the arsonist world you started, covering up the sky with
black dense fog, the type of fog that would happen only in dangerous wildfires
i'm a controlled wildfire, but i let my fire spread just to help control your fire

- kra

imagine
you: fire
and me: arsonist

i mean,
i think you're hot.
i mean,
i know how to get you going,
but i would never claim to be the boss of you,
i mean,
i marvel at your power.
i mean,
i don't mind if you scorch my eyebrows,
i wanna smell you when i take my hair down.

sometimes,
we bring out the worst in each other,
i mean,
always,
we bring out the most in each other.
we run the gamut from
criminals
to revolutionaries
but we are best
when we are both.

imagine
me: ice cream,
and you: spoon,
i mean i wanna fill you up,
i mean you make me melt,
i mean
sometimes the sweet things
are simple.

imagine me museum,
all history and velvet ropes,
imagine you scholar,
head full of context and hands in your pockets,
harmonious reciprocity.

imagine this a love song,
me Billy Joel
and you,
Uptown Girl,
imagine the miles stretched out between us crumpled away like two ends of a paper ball,
imagine you road trip
and me apology
imagine us
in some hot town that knows us,
with hair that smells like smoke and matches in our pockets.

In my spare time, I put out his fires, and I cut
the bottoms of my feet on broken glass while
traversing across the muggy, jagged scape of his mind.

He calls my name between pulls of cigarettes and the
striking of cheap matches, and it's worth noting that I never liked
my name much until I heard the fires scream it.

I'd stand at his side and watch the flames cause his heart to implode,
and I'd fidget with his *****, shaking fingers while I listened to him
whisper something about 'I love yous'

A man's art is a reflection of self. I take note of this,
while I watch the flames dance and swing in the browns of his eyes
and warm the cavern that, moments before, had been a heart.

Yep.
They're out there.
Pens ablaze.
Out to startle
and amaze.
Quite adept at
turn of phrase.
Leaving people
in a daze.
Set the fire.
Smoke's a haze.
The arsonist's
pernicious ways.
Before you know it
reps are razed.
Even tho my
flank is grazed
I won't worry.
I'm unfazed.
Don't base my worth

*upon your praise.

The back of the fire truck says "call to report arsonists."
The 800 number is at the tips of my fingers.
     But how can I report hands that sent flames licking up my thighs, kisses that left my lips scorched, smiles that ignited a roar deep in my stomach.
     How can I report you for setting my world ablaze, my heart on fire...
                                 And then leaving.

Flash! Bang! Crack! Puff!
In an instant
In one moment
History is gone like the wind
Like the cries of prisoners who yell "Save us!"
But me...me, I look, smile and wonder

So I walk with my lighters
With my gasoline and my torches
Ready and willing to wipe out a "Sanctuary"
This "place s of residence," this "castle"
Or so they say....

So the fires dance around wildly, excitingly,
Like some liberated dancer on the dance floor
Screaming, shouting, "I'm free!"
....But I'm trapped.....
Trapped in my frustrations, my fears, and my pain
So I unleash it all
In one second of glory, of wonder...of freedom...
So while your home, your school, your hospital, gives its final farewell to this Earth
For once I'm flying

So count yourself lucky
Because I could've done a while lot worse...

‘Your voice,
           I feel sedated whenever I hear
                     its dark caress
           Yet it invigorates me enough
                     for it to be my work song
You took me from Eden
                 to the church that is
                                  you
I entered its ancient confines-
                 to meet another you,
          someone new
                                              and Wilson you said:
“Be my Jackie,
                         let’s steal a child from creation
                         for I don’t want to be alone
          like real people do
who run into the woods somewhere ne'er to return to humanity"
               I wallowed in the heat of your
                   Auburn cathedral
and got seared by the heat of your *****
             and I hear your voice
                        as sweet
                              as cherry wine
And as I hear the trickling of fire
I realized that it is the arsonist’s lullaby.‘

At sunrise
I awake from
A violent comatose

I welcome the fiery rain
Soak my flesh from the faucet
Taking deep breathes in stride

With an arsonist anthem playing
Eyes closed and heart racing
The immolation takes flight

Bones made ash become warpaint
A far cry from help as I burn
An unstable dynamo ready to blow

In between strangers and friends,
And of lines to be crossed and erased,
You'd pull me out without a second thought
And every time you do, you'd whisper
'I feel cold.' Quiet and hot like liquid gold
I'd touch your arm and you gently shiver
I set you afire each time
You'd hold me closer and smile
As you try to lick a final sizzle to my finger
You're a pyromaniac and I'm an arsonist
I wonder how you see me
And I wonder if you know how I see you

[Let me be your silver lining, dear Alice.
I'll destroy this space of menace for your sake;
send us wings so that we might be freed from crucifixion—
—running and panting heavily against timelords.
And sometimes decaying isn't the initial conclusion,
so we'll fade away to the gates of hell.]

I.
Alice and I,
we were the
best of friends
since we were
kids.
Everything seemed
alright and
we have always
been at our zenith
until the high
stakes made us
drift apart.
I didn't see
her for almost a year
and when she came
back, she only
said one thing;
"I guess no one
possesses full control
to deviate against
the violence of
the sun."
and she disappeared
forever with no traces
to be found.
A lot of people told
me their guesses
about where she might
have been gone to
but I think
they're all lying.

II.
The inherent truth is
that Alice has been
reborn and become
a menace.
That girl was a
benevolent soul in
her past life
but her heart died
faster than the
speed of light
for the villains
of circumstance
killed her.
It's true that
altruism is a
lie and kindness
has never been
something perpetual
amongst people;
human nature
is malevolent and
kindness is deceptive
and that's why
Alice decided to
resurrect as
a villain and
the heroic past self
of hers had dissipated
into a thin air.

III.
There are people
who grow up
to be the person
they promised they
will never be
when they were
younger.
Nothing and no
one has ever really
been good or bad,
Alice, I think you
understand it too.
On the outside world,
they pretend to be heroes
and show off
their facade of
"kindness" in order to
strive for recognition;
they act as if
they're martyrs who
fight for everyone but
in fact,
they fight for their
own
good.
If they're saying
that egocentricism never
runs inside them then
it's a big
*******
lie.

IV.
You and I are
the ones who
used to be
afraid of
high stakes but
now we keep
on incessantly
demolishing those
high
stakes.
When you were
back from the dead,
you became the person
who destroys
everything and
everyone that
get in your way.
You and I,
we're both arsonists.
We ignite stalwart,
heinous flames toward
everything that opposes us;
not because we're sick
of being kind but
because we've come
to realize how
thoroughly fake
the concept of
kindness is.

you’re an arsonist
—you never failed to burn my whole;
always setting fire on my body and soul

indeed an arsonist
—you turned me into a thin smoke,
i disappeared; you never looked

based on a true story*

The arsonist invited me
into the house of love.
The floorboards creaked,
and in the rafters above
I saw the black soot stains
and where a spider had wove
its web, now dangling
in a cool breeze.
The door was still open—perhaps I should leave.
Would you like a cup of tea?
He smiled at me.
Of course, I accepted his hospitality--
then saw the light in his eye,
like a burning match glowing.
I’m sorry,  I said,  I must be going.
The warmth of your affection
is  really quite touching. But now I feel the heat rising
and a slow burning.
Our friendly visit is  turning
into a fire crackling.
I think my presence here is
some kind of  kindling.
Thank you for the tea-- I’ll be
heading back to town.
If I stay here any longer, I’m afraid
we’ll burn the house down.

*******
Arsonist
Regrettable
Stupid
Horrible
Arrogant
Loser
Lia­r

Manly
All-knowing
Right
****
Handy
Awesome
Likable
Level-heade­d