It crept up on me like a spider to prey. Starting from the inside and slowly coming forth until I was engulfed. Burning. Shining. Scorching. I was the sun. The light at the end of a dark tunnel. The halo over angel’s heads. The flames in pits of hell. I was fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Lord of the sky. Fire. I was destruction and rebirth. Chaos and harmony. I was untouchable, unbeatable. Immortal. Fire. The fluttering beat of a heart. The inner workings of a mind, the passions that people craved and lived. Fire. Fire. Fire.
My lungs ache. It feels as though my stomach is tightening and blackening, whatever fire that burns it consuming anything else it can reach on its way to my heart. The heat is almost unbearable, provoking a shuddering from my muscles as I fall to the ground in agony.
We have fires that start in the body. Some in the heart, where it is all that controls us. Sometimes and some people have fires in the head. I was told that writers, scientists, and philosophers have fires in the head, but I think it those fires truly originate from the heart.
everyone remembers the fire-girl,
with her tongues licking up flames
and her touch branding all those that ever dared
to love her
everyone remembers the ice-girl,
and the way her breaths
fog up the glass
because she’s not warm;
she cold,
too cold for you
no one remembers lukewarm,
not painful, not sharp,
just girl-boy-next-door,
drowning in the sheets
instead of devouring them
i could say that it was in my blood,
that i had bad (boring) blood,
but it’s just that i never
burned
big enough
( i was maybe a firework,
a one-hit wonder,
exploding in a multitude of colors
against the night sky,
loud and boisterous and celebratory
and then
forgotten )
She was hot and so was he. They both knew at that moment both their fiery passions were going to melt and mold into one. From then on they’ll be known as the burning lovers. The ones who sparked their flame every day for the rest of their lives.
given that we’ve almost crossed the treshold into the house of inhumanity, where the weather’s cold, were the stars are old, I’d say we lack a certain feeling, don’t you?
Flames flickered along my fingers, sending curls of smoke into the air. I was suffocating; but I didn’t care.
I was burning; but I could barely feel the pain it caused.
All I felt was r e l i e f
After this, I can be free.
I am burning for a new life. I want the the burning feeling to turn into passion. I don’t want all of the energy to burn out and be wasted. i want this feeling to make my life better. i want to be a phoenix that rises from the ashes.
Burning is something which fire does. Fire is hot and angry and, oftentimes, rather unpleasant. I wonder why fire seems so malevolent, so antagonistic. Perhaps fire was unloved as a child, the victim of some Freudian mistake by his mother which rendered fire incapable of compassion or love. Poor fire. I’d wager all fire needs is someone to love.
Right now, my heart is burning. I’m in the middle of trying to figure out if this guy is right for me. I don’t want to sound cliche, but something about him touches the deepest parts of my hearts. When I need a lover, a best friend, someone to cater to me, he’s there. But at the same time, he’s not everything I need. But that’s okay. I
my soul is on fire. burning. burning for my love. my baby. I want him. desire. I yearn. I need. I love. I can’t wait. please. I need you. I know you love me. save me. come and save me. from this despair. you’re mine and I’m yours. only us. only you.
There was something inside of him that was making me feel awesome inside, I don’t know what was it, but he just made me feel alive. That’s all I can say, I was burning inside, and now, I miss that old feeling. Might can I feel the same for somebody else now? or ever?
A question for a cosmologist — or better yet, you: When the Sun stops burning, will Earth cry in darkness for eternity? Or will she stare out into infinity, focus on the light from a single star and dream forever the greatest dream: having lived, having given birth to life, and will she remember all her children all the way up to you? And if so, will she feel the warmth of an eternal star forever shining as she reminds herself how your own radiance met the Sun’s radiance on your celestial face, out of your heavenly eyes, and into the celestial heaven in her heart? Her heavenly heart as vast as your sky where the spirit of her rain will come peacefully down to fill the graves of her five oceans? (Us being the fifth.)
A question for a cosmologist, or better yet, you: When the Sun stops burning, will Earth cry in darkness for eternity? Or will she stare out into infinity, focus on the light from a single star and dream forever the greatest dream: having lived, having given birth to life, and will she remember all her children all the way up to you –YES, you? And if so, will she feel the warmth of an eternal star forever shining as she reminds herself how your own radiance met the Sun’s radiance on your celestial face, out of your heavenly eyes, and into the celestial heaven in her heart; her heavenly heart as vast as her sky where the spirit of her rain will fall peacefully down to fill the graves of her five oceans? (Us being the fifth.)
burning. fire. flames. They engulf everything they touch. Paper, wood, flesh. Few things repel flames, even that which seems o withstand heat may melt if heated long enough. BURNING .
The smell of pine fills the air as the logs outside the cabin burn. The sky turns a smoky black and there is nowhere to run. The fire has enveloped the cabin, the only comfort is in that of love. Warmth from the heart, not the flames.
I laid the book down on the table, semi stunned. Everyone’s Burning it said on the cover. The book had no heroes, only survivors and casualties surrounded by paperdolls. A boy trapped in a civil war between surreal monsters in human bodies and the reality of human frailness. The horror of living afraid every day in a grass hut made of chaos… he was one of the walking wounded from the start. I felt such a mix of emotions for the boy that was scarred. Tears rolled down my face as he challenged a world for answers that didn’t seem to care. Can a child have PTSD I wondered? His mind was like a movie camera taking in every detail, every nuisance, every hidden agenda as the paperdolls looked on with false smiles sloppily hand drawn over endless sneers. Decades of self-medication offering portholes as he stumbles from lifeboat to lifeboat, propelled from one life-changing event to the next like a marionette run by a sadist. I cried for him with every beating, on the curb that left me shaking for days after I read, and for the punishment he sought. His submission dangled an illusion of justice through the taste of his own blood and pain. I don’t know how he survived, how he discovered the path to emerge from the rabbit hole that seemed to pass through hell; but I was sure of one thing. Matches are easy to come by.
I can feel my body begin to heat, a burning sensation that rises from the bottom of my stomac and racing to my cheeks. amazing, really, the nerve of some people.
I walked towards the cashier with my heart pounding, cheeks burning, and a lump in my throat. My thoughts raced and anxiety heightened as I tried to go up all the way and speak. My body and soul burning with mixed feelings. Unable to go up the burning ceased as I turned cold putting the things I grabbed away. My silence giving room for self hatred to bloom as emotions poured down my cheeks.
The tears traced burning paths from his eyes–strange, scalding fluid that he had never experienced before. He tentatively named the emotion he was experiencing ‘sorrow’.
My cheeks are burning as he touches me. I want this so bad, but I can’t help the fact that I am scared. I have waited for this for so long, and now it’s happening. A moan escapes my lips; the first moan of the night. My cheeks burn even darker and he smirks.
My body is burning with an anger so intense. Why is it you always get away with everything? Why am I the one to blame? You left me. I tried, and now I’m tired to trying. Next time you need someone, I won’t be there. I’m tired of being walked over and being the sweet girl who just shuts her mouth. I’m done being that girl.
That is what her old life is doing. She tossed it in the dumpster and poured gasoline all over it. She lit a match and set it all on fire. The flames reach towards the heavens and call her name, but she doesn’t turn; she just keeps on walking away.
She’s always been a wordy one. Goodbyes and hellos last far too long. What she ought to do is cut through her words. Light them on fire. Listen to the crackling. Watch the letters burning away. Ink going up in flames.
Burning? I already got this word. But here goes nothing. Embers are burning in the fireplace, bright and orange. Their light is dim in the large room, but they leave for a romantic air. I bring my lips to his, touching them together ever so softly. Now my cheeks are burning.
His acidic blood hit my skin, and I felt as if I was burning. The hot, rusty liquid sprayed onto my upper body and soaked into me like deadly sunshine. I slowly met his eyes. He was crying, because this hurt him too. His bodily fluids were being fried. These were his last moments.
My desire for Noah was burning even more now that the room was dark and the moon shone on his chest as he pulled his shirt off. My heart thumped loudly, as if it was trying to escape my rib cage. Noah looked at me and then leaned down to my face and whispered,
“I’ll be back soon.”
He stood up and climbed out the window. I heard him land lightly on the ground below. I hoped he’d come back human, not wolf.
Clenching.
Coiling.
Roiling.
Undulating.
Waves of heat.
Breathing in the friction on the air.
Feel your blood coursing.
Tingling, pinking, lingering…
Oh, the burn, the burn, the burn, the burning.
Burning bright, like diamonds shimmering in what is a beautiful night. It was, indeed, pretty to see. A pretty destruction. Coursing through the veins of downtown, Abbie saw the beauty. Mystified, shocked, yet astonished by the beauty.
Flames, burning through the night, ripped through our little town in Bethlehem, Penn. There were little words, little things to be said for what could have been the end of our lives. There was, though, the sound.
The fire was bright. It was a cold evening, but one could almost forget about fall’s biting chill while close to the flames. It was easy, in the darkness, to hearken back to ancient times; the monsters of lore and legend were close and very real, pressing against the boundaries of the small clearing, illuminated by the fire’s flickering light.
they say burning is easy. but you try and light yourself on fire and it never happens. your fingers never curl like the edges of a page. and you are not devoured quickly. turning to grey ash. instead your skin peels and scrapes. as if unwilling to leave. and they say burning is easy.
So we took a trip. To the burning lake.
“Satan was never real,” she said.
I nodded. This disaster was completely man made.
This is not the work of one entity, but the hearts of many.
When hate explodes and burns throughout a country.
Like a pyroclastic flow.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
Or so the phrase goes.
Wonder how many witches, pardon me, victims met such an inglorious fate.
I’ve seen their torture chambers, iron maidens, and curiously sharp implements.
The dungeons in the castles.
And the concentration camps.
The bullets and the tanks.
Wandered through museums for the fallen while walking over who knows how many mass graves.
The world tomorrow could be burning, but there’s no amount of fire that can scour away the sheer amount of brutal human history.
She was burning with passion yet she could not express it. There was nobody there for her. She yearned for that affection that everyone else had, but she kept it to herself.
i felt like my insides were tearing. spliting from the ends in. why was i doing this to myself? my body didn’t want it, but my mind did. what was i covering up? loneliness? depression? a separation from God? probably all. i don’t want those now. All i want is Him.
There was a burning sensation, at first merely aggravating, it was almost an itch. It gradually became a fiery pain, the longer it went, the hotter it burned.
The sensation on my skin is the only thing left.
The touching moment of flame to flesh engulfs me.
The only feeling known.
Burning. Fire and ash.
I wonder how long this will last.
Burning.
Fire and Ash.
It hurts more than I’d hoped for,
But it’s worth it.
Burning.
Burning, burning, burning, we watch them all fall down. There will be no ashes remaining in this place, the road we left scattered to the wind. She will cary them softly and return us all home.
It crept up on me like a spider to prey. Starting from the inside and slowly coming forth until I was engulfed. Burning. Shining. Scorching. I was the sun. The light at the end of a dark tunnel. The halo over angel’s heads. The flames in pits of hell. I was fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Lord of the sky. Fire. I was destruction and rebirth. Chaos and harmony. I was untouchable, unbeatable. Immortal. Fire. The fluttering beat of a heart. The inner workings of a mind, the passions that people craved and lived. Fire. Fire. Fire.
My lungs ache. It feels as though my stomach is tightening and blackening, whatever fire that burns it consuming anything else it can reach on its way to my heart. The heat is almost unbearable, provoking a shuddering from my muscles as I fall to the ground in agony.
We have fires that start in the body. Some in the heart, where it is all that controls us. Sometimes and some people have fires in the head. I was told that writers, scientists, and philosophers have fires in the head, but I think it those fires truly originate from the heart.
everyone remembers the fire-girl,
with her tongues licking up flames
and her touch branding all those that ever dared
to love her
everyone remembers the ice-girl,
and the way her breaths
fog up the glass
because she’s not warm;
she cold,
too cold for you
no one remembers lukewarm,
not painful, not sharp,
just girl-boy-next-door,
drowning in the sheets
instead of devouring them
i could say that it was in my blood,
that i had bad (boring) blood,
but it’s just that i never
burned
big enough
( i was maybe a firework,
a one-hit wonder,
exploding in a multitude of colors
against the night sky,
loud and boisterous and celebratory
and then
forgotten )
boom.
She was hot and so was he. They both knew at that moment both their fiery passions were going to melt and mold into one. From then on they’ll be known as the burning lovers. The ones who sparked their flame every day for the rest of their lives.
-S.S
given that we’ve almost crossed the treshold into the house of inhumanity, where the weather’s cold, were the stars are old, I’d say we lack a certain feeling, don’t you?
Flames flickered along my fingers, sending curls of smoke into the air. I was suffocating; but I didn’t care.
I was burning; but I could barely feel the pain it caused.
All I felt was r e l i e f
After this, I can be free.
I am burning for a new life. I want the the burning feeling to turn into passion. I don’t want all of the energy to burn out and be wasted. i want this feeling to make my life better. i want to be a phoenix that rises from the ashes.
Burning is something which fire does. Fire is hot and angry and, oftentimes, rather unpleasant. I wonder why fire seems so malevolent, so antagonistic. Perhaps fire was unloved as a child, the victim of some Freudian mistake by his mother which rendered fire incapable of compassion or love. Poor fire. I’d wager all fire needs is someone to love.
Right now, my heart is burning. I’m in the middle of trying to figure out if this guy is right for me. I don’t want to sound cliche, but something about him touches the deepest parts of my hearts. When I need a lover, a best friend, someone to cater to me, he’s there. But at the same time, he’s not everything I need. But that’s okay. I
my soul is on fire. burning. burning for my love. my baby. I want him. desire. I yearn. I need. I love. I can’t wait. please. I need you. I know you love me. save me. come and save me. from this despair. you’re mine and I’m yours. only us. only you.
There was something inside of him that was making me feel awesome inside, I don’t know what was it, but he just made me feel alive. That’s all I can say, I was burning inside, and now, I miss that old feeling. Might can I feel the same for somebody else now? or ever?
A question for a cosmologist — or better yet, you: When the Sun stops burning, will Earth cry in darkness for eternity? Or will she stare out into infinity, focus on the light from a single star and dream forever the greatest dream: having lived, having given birth to life, and will she remember all her children all the way up to you? And if so, will she feel the warmth of an eternal star forever shining as she reminds herself how your own radiance met the Sun’s radiance on your celestial face, out of your heavenly eyes, and into the celestial heaven in her heart? Her heavenly heart as vast as your sky where the spirit of her rain will come peacefully down to fill the graves of her five oceans? (Us being the fifth.)
A question for a cosmologist, or better yet, you: When the Sun stops burning, will Earth cry in darkness for eternity? Or will she stare out into infinity, focus on the light from a single star and dream forever the greatest dream: having lived, having given birth to life, and will she remember all her children all the way up to you –YES, you? And if so, will she feel the warmth of an eternal star forever shining as she reminds herself how your own radiance met the Sun’s radiance on your celestial face, out of your heavenly eyes, and into the celestial heaven in her heart; her heavenly heart as vast as her sky where the spirit of her rain will fall peacefully down to fill the graves of her five oceans? (Us being the fifth.)
burning. fire. flames. They engulf everything they touch. Paper, wood, flesh. Few things repel flames, even that which seems o withstand heat may melt if heated long enough. BURNING .
The smell of pine fills the air as the logs outside the cabin burn. The sky turns a smoky black and there is nowhere to run. The fire has enveloped the cabin, the only comfort is in that of love. Warmth from the heart, not the flames.
I laid the book down on the table, semi stunned. Everyone’s Burning it said on the cover. The book had no heroes, only survivors and casualties surrounded by paperdolls. A boy trapped in a civil war between surreal monsters in human bodies and the reality of human frailness. The horror of living afraid every day in a grass hut made of chaos… he was one of the walking wounded from the start. I felt such a mix of emotions for the boy that was scarred. Tears rolled down my face as he challenged a world for answers that didn’t seem to care. Can a child have PTSD I wondered? His mind was like a movie camera taking in every detail, every nuisance, every hidden agenda as the paperdolls looked on with false smiles sloppily hand drawn over endless sneers. Decades of self-medication offering portholes as he stumbles from lifeboat to lifeboat, propelled from one life-changing event to the next like a marionette run by a sadist. I cried for him with every beating, on the curb that left me shaking for days after I read, and for the punishment he sought. His submission dangled an illusion of justice through the taste of his own blood and pain. I don’t know how he survived, how he discovered the path to emerge from the rabbit hole that seemed to pass through hell; but I was sure of one thing. Matches are easy to come by.
I can feel my body begin to heat, a burning sensation that rises from the bottom of my stomac and racing to my cheeks. amazing, really, the nerve of some people.
I walked towards the cashier with my heart pounding, cheeks burning, and a lump in my throat. My thoughts raced and anxiety heightened as I tried to go up all the way and speak. My body and soul burning with mixed feelings. Unable to go up the burning ceased as I turned cold putting the things I grabbed away. My silence giving room for self hatred to bloom as emotions poured down my cheeks.
The tears traced burning paths from his eyes–strange, scalding fluid that he had never experienced before. He tentatively named the emotion he was experiencing ‘sorrow’.
My cheeks are burning as he touches me. I want this so bad, but I can’t help the fact that I am scared. I have waited for this for so long, and now it’s happening. A moan escapes my lips; the first moan of the night. My cheeks burn even darker and he smirks.
My body is burning with an anger so intense. Why is it you always get away with everything? Why am I the one to blame? You left me. I tried, and now I’m tired to trying. Next time you need someone, I won’t be there. I’m tired of being walked over and being the sweet girl who just shuts her mouth. I’m done being that girl.
That is what her old life is doing. She tossed it in the dumpster and poured gasoline all over it. She lit a match and set it all on fire. The flames reach towards the heavens and call her name, but she doesn’t turn; she just keeps on walking away.
She’s always been a wordy one. Goodbyes and hellos last far too long. What she ought to do is cut through her words. Light them on fire. Listen to the crackling. Watch the letters burning away. Ink going up in flames.
Burning? I already got this word. But here goes nothing. Embers are burning in the fireplace, bright and orange. Their light is dim in the large room, but they leave for a romantic air. I bring my lips to his, touching them together ever so softly. Now my cheeks are burning.
His acidic blood hit my skin, and I felt as if I was burning. The hot, rusty liquid sprayed onto my upper body and soaked into me like deadly sunshine. I slowly met his eyes. He was crying, because this hurt him too. His bodily fluids were being fried. These were his last moments.
My desire for Noah was burning even more now that the room was dark and the moon shone on his chest as he pulled his shirt off. My heart thumped loudly, as if it was trying to escape my rib cage. Noah looked at me and then leaned down to my face and whispered,
“I’ll be back soon.”
He stood up and climbed out the window. I heard him land lightly on the ground below. I hoped he’d come back human, not wolf.
Clenching.
Coiling.
Roiling.
Undulating.
Waves of heat.
Breathing in the friction on the air.
Feel your blood coursing.
Tingling, pinking, lingering…
Oh, the burn, the burn, the burn, the burning.
Burning bright, like diamonds shimmering in what is a beautiful night. It was, indeed, pretty to see. A pretty destruction. Coursing through the veins of downtown, Abbie saw the beauty. Mystified, shocked, yet astonished by the beauty.
Flames, burning through the night, ripped through our little town in Bethlehem, Penn. There were little words, little things to be said for what could have been the end of our lives. There was, though, the sound.
The fire was bright. It was a cold evening, but one could almost forget about fall’s biting chill while close to the flames. It was easy, in the darkness, to hearken back to ancient times; the monsters of lore and legend were close and very real, pressing against the boundaries of the small clearing, illuminated by the fire’s flickering light.
they say burning is easy. but you try and light yourself on fire and it never happens. your fingers never curl like the edges of a page. and you are not devoured quickly. turning to grey ash. instead your skin peels and scrapes. as if unwilling to leave. and they say burning is easy.
So we took a trip. To the burning lake.
“Satan was never real,” she said.
I nodded. This disaster was completely man made.
This is not the work of one entity, but the hearts of many.
When hate explodes and burns throughout a country.
Like a pyroclastic flow.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…
Or so the phrase goes.
Wonder how many witches, pardon me, victims met such an inglorious fate.
I’ve seen their torture chambers, iron maidens, and curiously sharp implements.
The dungeons in the castles.
And the concentration camps.
The bullets and the tanks.
Wandered through museums for the fallen while walking over who knows how many mass graves.
The world tomorrow could be burning, but there’s no amount of fire that can scour away the sheer amount of brutal human history.
She was burning with passion yet she could not express it. There was nobody there for her. She yearned for that affection that everyone else had, but she kept it to herself.
Burning, twisting, dying, falling.
I’m burning. I’m on fire. It’s sparking, leaping, jumping and trying.
It’s trying to be me.
I’m burning. I’m on fire. I’m flickering, as I fly higher.
Think I’m gonna fall.
Think I’ve done it all.
Help me, please. Give me one reason to live
I’m burning and fading away, without hope for another day.
Don’t let me die so soon. Don’t let me burn right out.
Give me a wish, a dream, a hope. Give me the chance, a final note.
I’ll make you proud and I’ll stand tall.
I’ll make my own place, in history’s hall.
When I am grounded inside and out,
Given thanks for my gifts and showed them off,
My burning flame will remain true
One special memory, one last view.
i felt like my insides were tearing. spliting from the ends in. why was i doing this to myself? my body didn’t want it, but my mind did. what was i covering up? loneliness? depression? a separation from God? probably all. i don’t want those now. All i want is Him.
There was a burning sensation, at first merely aggravating, it was almost an itch. It gradually became a fiery pain, the longer it went, the hotter it burned.
The sensation on my skin is the only thing left.
The touching moment of flame to flesh engulfs me.
The only feeling known.
Burning. Fire and ash.
I wonder how long this will last.
Burning.
Fire and Ash.
It hurts more than I’d hoped for,
But it’s worth it.
Burning.
Burning, burning, burning, we watch them all fall down. There will be no ashes remaining in this place, the road we left scattered to the wind. She will cary them softly and return us all home.