Flaming paper eating the table,
Illness killing myself.
Rockets over the window,
Especially, made by myself.
Wounds, which painfully hurt...
Or make a decision to beg?
Run away, run away, run way!
Killers are nearly here.
Sometimes, the war is beginning...
To understand who I really am.
Written year ago, during my GCSE's. What do you think?
To start with I thought you were talking about the fireworks which go into the sky, go bang, and have lots of pretty colours. But on reading it again it seemed more like teen angst than anything else. It's not the tender and subtle sort of poetic pain either, it's the extreme kind of pain which generally puts a lot of people of because it's essentially teen angst.
I also don't really see the grand point of this poem or what it's really alluding to, and that's a bit of an issue I think; at least for me it is.
But despite the fact that I don't like it, don't completely give up writing because you can create something better if you put your mind to it.