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.
