I am the Arsonist

I oscillate to poet to designer to friend to son to lover
like wax around a candle wick twirling.
All persons projected out; never justice,
but who is the town-crier to yell to?

Me a pyromaniac throwing words around
as if sticks and stones never hurting.
I light the fire. Ash burns my eyes as it flies
Up to Heaven
becomes apparent, it was deliberate.