a Poem by Raquel Swann

You didn’t start the fire

but you fuel the flames

pyrotechnics turn you on

a deviant orgy of burning bridges,

and flowing tears.

Billowing smoke and ash,

charred remains of victims,

who but lent you a key.

Act so concerned,

while sacred temples

burn down to the ground,

on your watch.

You’re a villain

who plays the hero so well

distorting the lines

between good and evil.

Try to come for my house,

my linens are flame retarded

My bed can’t burn.

Within the dancing flames,

scattered about,

your true form reveled,

evil encased in gold,

ugly draped with beauty.