Spontaneous human combustion

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
An incendiary poem based on a true life experience

Submitted: August 27, 2009

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Submitted: August 27, 2009



Spontaneous human combustion, that evacuating scream,

erupts suddenly without a trace of fire;

the necessary conditionsfor combustion do not exist.

This metaphysical phenomenon

is a mysterious conflagration of exhausted flesh,

dry bones and an unholy spirit.

No scientific explanation supports the conclusion;

something must have happened from the inside out

which the heart can not contain. In other words,

some silent deaf and dumb ischemic attack without a voice

is about to scream

at the top of its congested lungs, "Infarction!"

Taken to hell by absolute zero ( -459.67 degrees )

frigid, naked and unbearably hot,

the determinate counsel of thermogenesis

backs lonely introspection into a dry tinderbox corner.

This pyromaniac is a bulimic soul

who cannot keep the taste of love down.


it becomes engaged in a wave of silent protest;

something malignant within is rebelling.

Hail, fire and brimstone don't help; they produce unquenchable guilt.

The last protective nerve ending is unsheathed

exposing the subconscious. This raw familial exposure

sends you through the roof

of your mouth, and you must obey the voice inside your head,

a clear directive which says,

"Emerge! Touch the sky or die!"

Red sky, red flag, red herring, red badge of courage

bring you to a new high,

and your veins begin to smoke

with the smell of an undetected electrical fire.

The pain shifts back and forth across the international dateline

until you have no idea what day it is.

Frustration gift-wrapped as uncertainty

takes root as bitterness

beneath the shameless tree of abuse,

physical, mental, emotional and spiritual.

In this jealous garden

tentacles fertilized with anger produce the lush fruit of hatred.

Finally, after all is said and done

desperation engenders a sense of hopelessness.

You've spent your last emotional dime,

and you can only watch

psychologically motivated memories arise

like a gaggle of gestalt geese inviting you to join them

south of the border.

Your hyper introspection irradiates flammable despair.

It burns your X-Ray to the nth degree,

smokes bonfire flames of vanity and peppers the bluesky

with imploding black holes.

You are now caught red-handed,

an incendiary fire bug who is immolating his carcinogenic self,

And vengeance is yours

until the definitive intransigence

of your meditative posture

brings you to a new high

just one degree above the highest.

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