Winterbyte

Emotional arsonists
karma twists into

firestarters
are
dancing
flames martyred
upon
unfortunate twigs.

Burn me down like suburbia, all my star-spangled curtains and micro suede shades of certainty

furnishing façade.

Licking sacred bonds
(separating God from
the gangrene,
a means to hazy ends)
in favour
of vacancy,

columns of smoke where there

formerly stood
shreds of mercy,

and bed
frames

burdened with the
worksmanship of
wear.

I unleash
cursive infernos
in rafters old
clothes
rarely freshened,
for the ghosts invested in
them reaped us
only mould.

Never let me grow old if
I can expire like

a match and
gasoline,

pouring bourbon on the the bonfire to
whom I’m bequeathed,

twisted up within
the sheets when
all hell breaks from
inside
out.

***

Related

Firebyte

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