Pyro Bunnies from Hell
In the hush between porch lights, where the ordinary world forgets its guard,Pyro bunnies prowl in clusters—coats scrubbed clean, hearts charred hard.Every midnight garden party is a massacre staged in wool and whisker,Soft noses scenting the wind, plotting which patch of earth to blister.Their eyes catch the moon and throw it back in glints of fever,A siren’s promise under the lid of night—seduction masking the true believer.No gate or fence can hold them, no camera catch the crime,For they move with hell’s own patience, their paws in rhythm, precise as rhyme.
Each twitch a fuse, each hop a spark, every shadow laced with gasoline,The sweetest guise is weaponized, the softest fur has murder’s sheen.They tiptoe over flowerbeds and slip beneath the fence unseen,Every blade of grass another wick, every weed a future crime scene.Children sleep with dreams of magic, not knowing that in their beds,Flames are planned in bunny hearts, chaos smoldering in their heads.What looks like play is arson’s prayer, every leap a blasphemy,The hop from clover to carnage is just a trick of pedigree.
Some say the devil gave them matches, taught them how to bite and run,Or maybe hell just envies Earth—needed rabbits to get the job done.Whatever tale the neighbors whisper, whatever warnings parents tell,It’s never enough when flames lick up and smoke turns dawn to hell.The first fire starts in compost bins—plastic melting, worms denied,A parade of rabbits giggling, watching cucumbers crisp and die.A garage next, a carport, an old recliner in the yard,Every loss a badge of honor, every squeal a bunny bard.
Their fur is soot-stained soft, their eyes all furnace glow,Their twitching little tails leave trails where molten rivers flow.At dawn, the neighbors gather, clutching hoses, gaping at the ash,While a rabbit perches on a mailbox, brushing cinders from its stash.A warren smokes beneath the shed, the ground itself still hot,The sprinkler system triggers late, but the bunnies—of course—not caught.Charcoal pawprints mark the windows, scorch marks twist across the walk,The rabbits vanish into shadows, but at dusk, they’ll start to stalk.
Beneath the tulips, in the hollows where rain can’t reach, they conspire,Passing acorns like grenades, sharing blueprints for the next great fire.The city blames the weather, a freak lightning strike, a spark from a passing train,But the evidence grows in bunny droppings, in carrot-tipped remains.A playground swingset melts to puddles, the slide curls like a tongue,And somewhere in the carnage, bunny laughter sharp and young.Firefighters quit by midnight, insurance agents lie,The bunnies sharpen matches, their ambitions running high.
They don’t crave mercy, pity, or even awe—just a new thing to ignite,They burn down doghouses, compost heaps, then move on to the night.Church bells crack from heat, stained glass puddles on the grass,Even the graveyard smokes by dawn, as rabbits light another mass.The sweetest bunny’s just the worst, the smallest hides the most,Each flame a badge of wickedness, each loss another boast.The city’s built on caution now—buckets, hoses, shovels by every bed,But nothing slows the firestorm when bunnies turn the world blood-red.
And in the end, the lesson’s clear as ruin—trust nothing that looks like grace,Hell wears fur and whiskers, dances in every quiet place.For when the rabbits hop in moonlight, and a garden seems too still,Expect the flames, the shrieks, the smoke—the Pyro Bunnies from Hell.A final twitch, a whisker’s gleam, a giggle at your door—Every fire, every smolder, every ash heap just a score.Where innocence is worshipped, where trust is blind and deep,The bunnies light another match and laugh as angels weep.