...fuel and oxidants chemically react, releasing a burst of hot energy, and sometimes a blinding light. combustion, a bare essential chemical reaction in nature, happens when an energy source is supplied. however, under rare circumstances, the oxidant is irregularly reactive and the fuel easy to ignite, and we get a spontaneous combustion...
she's never really
loved chemistry
and biology
or maybe,
she felt
understanding
the organic
and chemical
makeup of humanity
would make them all
nothing but organic
animals
but what she did
understand
was the combustion
you struck a match to
the pollutants
of your words
tainted in her infatuation
not aimed at her
spirals down her trachea
diffuses into her lungs
and react with the
oxygenated products
her poor delicate respiratory
filled and deflated
to create
and chemicals react
and chemicals combust
under a binding rib cage
a conflagration
of the ribbons of lungs
wrapping around her bodice
h o l d i n g
h e r
d e l i c a t e
c a r d i a c
o r g a n
i n
and chemicals react
and chemicals combust
under her self-tied
constraints
to keep the
temperature rises
from causing you
to perspire
and chemicals react
and chemicals combust
causing the pollutants
of the aftermath
to rise to the heavens
just like her
bipolar prayers
for you
polluting her
disoriented mind
i n
a
c l o u d
o f
h a z e
a n d
a f t e r a s h
and your chemicals
react with hers
and she's the one
who combusts
internally burning
from the red flames
replacing
plasma cells
between
the red and white
her mind had
always been astray
from the scent
of your gasoline
perfume
she had
always been
to scared
to strike
a match to
and chemicals react
and chemicals combust
but the beauty in it
is,
as long as she burns
she can enjoy your
oxidants in her lungs,
combusting
(and right
before
you
set
her
mind
aflame,
you leave her
just lukewarm)
//// if anybody wants to know my interpretation when i write this, feel free to pm me and ask for an explanation. i promise not to bite if you aren't rude c:
xoxo, may.
YOU ARE READING
evanescent.
Poetry❝if you see a pretty flower in a field, don't pick it//it will only wilt in your hand//love is not possesion❞ in which may picks her misfit poems of fleeting moments and bundles them in this never wilting bouquet.
