Pyromania Arsen
burning black
paper coffins bleached blue
In his kindergarten classroom
At the tender age of two
Round the witching month
A couple days, beyond the witching hour
Wishing...
"Just a second, I'm not done yet, and I've yet to find my lighter"
convoluting lies and lies to reach
The effervescent sunrise
that he'd never really grasped
the fire... was his friend.
frightened him [une étoile]
it looked like mirror glass
in his space galactica eyes that
told him, in more words than a thousand and fewer sounds than muted birds
He never had a reflection anyways
He'd always applied the mascara looking through to mid air.
Funny boy.
***Interestingly enough this was one of the first poems I entered on this site, but it was in contest... *sigh* and I only ever got honorable mention...
