#spitting fire

April daily pic challenge - And a fag #27

When the ball of H2 and He2

Is spitting fire,

Like a pied cuckoo

You are staring at the sky.

Waiting and waiting

For a drop of water,

To wash away all the temperature

To get down the mercury scale lower

To see the sky greyish darker

I mean that line is just

Spitfire

12x12"

forsaken; where you were the lamb

bad dog; you know how you should act

buried; how much longer can you bury yourself

foreigner; where do you come from, strange one?

reflections; mirror shards of the self that isnt a self

homes; something you know like your pocket; parts of you have been here, lived here, died here, parts of you run to hide here, some seeking asylum from you

fracturing; oh dear, it seems you've turned to shards

you lie in a thousand graves; the deaths of your selfs with no one to mourn them, you die again, and again

packing down the dirt; old graves and the old house you burn down every day, and every night to come

hiding places; you will see something lingering, blurred, there, when you look beneath the veil

sightings; something you know from within

cycles; you are known to walk in circles

dead eyes; your cruelty, your apathy

tales; its a sad story, this past

sanctum; get on your knees

lairs; where the beasts roam

light; haunted holy, and aware

spitting fire; your rage as a beacon

omens; do you understand? do you see?

prey-natured; they pulled your canines early on

lost; do you remember yourself? do you remember where to go? do you remember who to be? is it lost?

radio signals; transmissions from someplace hidden well below view, can you hear what they are saying? (more importantly; will you choose to?)

forest fire; burn and burn and burn, smoke and ashes forming something new, remember the brightness of a flame in darkness, fire both destroys, and creates

breathe in and out; close your eyes, feel your chest, breathe, breathe, breathe, and try not to become a museum of your self

cries; but it does hurt, doesn't it, hidden one?

voices; they seem to speak of deep parts of you

verses; quiet narrations of your world, listen close

always walking away; you're always somewhere off in the distance, always running, always turning away

stained red; there will always be blood, embrace this

the edge of a blade; sharp like the self, cold, bright

inheritance; the wound passed down, honour it

marionette; you've never been your own

Spit

Ignite the night

Fume the area with love