The last thing I’m searching for is an escort
Since the last thing I desire are rebuffs
A girdle hug, miniscule body language
saying you’ve had enough, a waning smile

A dark glaze when you say you’ll stay
But then off you go, and here I remain
Nerves alight in kaleidoscopic color, all around, crackling, humming and
making a low static sound

I am this Christmas tree of anxiety
Burning the house to the ground
While the family sleeps, unknowingly
Implicated in its catastrophe

The only pet I have cares not for me
There’s no emotion to extract
For once I think there’s no expectation
So it really can’t be that bad

(But I’d miss her/ like hell/like
when you burn out …)


8 thoughts on “Firebug

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