A pyromaniac hidden
In a forest of neuron trees
Sneaking tiptoe
Along with the tictac
Of a biological clock feet
Wallying inside it
Tickling the nerves
(A childish toture
For an old ghost.)
Out of nowhere
All-the-colors'
Gone
Burned-to-the-bones,
Baby, to-the-bones.
I could use some grey
To illustrate it,
However,
The subsequents
Fireworks fit better.
Scared as a child, yes,
But now I know how
It burns and melts
And I've made a vowel
To watch it closely.
You could supposedly
Think instead that
Death arouses me
Because you're blind
For what I see inside it.
It's a dark matter magic fight.
I'm sitting in the first row
Trying to see a light or a hole
In this difining (or defying)
Horror show...
The loud clashing
Of the pyromaniac work.
Ashes
Flashes
Bolts
thousands and thousands
Of volts,
Flesh,
And just a skull
Around it
Filled with blood.
Additionally, maybe a soul,
If it could be defined.
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