It's forest fire season you know, so those spitting embers that race out of your mouth like meteoroids crashing toward Earth, and hell you may set me on fire. Burn me down with those words or burn me up with your love, you choose. Choose my path to destruction, either way cremate me and keep the ashes. Safe-keeping, souvenirs of adventures conquered and god, I'm a willing conquest. Just get a map, I'm complicated with my dead ends and cliff edges. I'm brutal that way. Like the sea, I will either wreck you or get you to where you need to go. It will be a hell of a ride though, don't get seasick, homesick.
The season of forest fires, be cautious, these winter months know how to numb you to the bone and no sun, no air, the perfect climate for the festering of bacteria in the mind. Be mindful of those suicide tendencies. Be cautious of the boys that remind you of summer. Bronzed skin, grass-green eyes, yellow-sun hair and mouths full of summer breezes. So, remember dear Icarus, don't get too close to the sun or you're bound to fall into the depths of a roaring ocean of unrequited feelings.
YOU ARE READING
Tangents
PoetryIt's some kind of literary form. Quote me: k.t. Sometimes explaining something does not give it meaning, but leaves it without purpose.
