Orange can of gasoline

I take an orange can of gasoline
To my room at night, where
Bulbs and lamps peek out
With their interfering sight.
Changing into a creamy dress
Of my bumpy skin
With flaws as many as
The little pores on them.
Playing the radio, I see
Me dancing with the sins
Sins that birth from thinking
Once, twice and a lot more than thrice.
Cracking up at the salty water
That leaves my eyes,
The lump in my throat
Stuck like a grey fur ball.
Unable to find a panacea
In my brain or my urea,
I pick up the orange can of gasoline
Why can I not pour it down,
Light a match and just lay around?
I dance naked everyday, thinking
Once, twice and a lot more than thrice.

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