The Home And The Guardians Poem by Kid of Los Angeles

Drenched in the light of candlewick
Enlightened by the dance of the flames trick.
Surrounded by a supposed reference to womb,
A supposed “home” I assume.
I have no sense of telepathy
But I know in this squalor I face misery.
A pair of authority holds the torch
For all to possibly follow in this darkness of sorts
But I, how wonder and radicalize
To alter the flame before their very eyes.
What a sight, yet what a plight.
I turn the order into tragedy by night.
It’s not ALL intentional.
I simply have a mine-like skeletal
Demanding all around me to tiptoe.
At the spark of a flame, explosion wears near
All is needed is the wrong phrase to hear.
Go scrub, go die, go toil!
Oh dear, an explosion shall surely boil.
To compress such a delicate accessory,
Is madness of unknown identity.
The flame shall be damp.
I know only of oceanic ways.
The waves shall go mad.
The ocean shall go mad.
I shall go mad.