capitalism is flammable

Dangle it in front of my face like a succulent, dripping meat.

I, the prisoner. You, the captor.

Have your circus sing me its lullaby.

I watch their eyes. Empty. A muddled swirl of promises they’ve drunk from a bottle they’ve been told is happiness.

The label worn and peeling. Another hidden beneath.

And of course they haven’t looked. They’ll never look.

The bottle isn’t transparent. They believe what they are drinking because you told them it will help them. You told them they had to.

They watch me but they don’t see me.

I watch them and I can do nothing but see.

Pour it into a bottle and tell me it’s water.

I’ll die if I don’t drink it. Don’t you know?

Everyone needs water.

I, the helpless. You, the savior.

Snatch me up by the chin, breathe its fetid air into my throat.

Inhale, child. Take a deep breath for me.

Watch my tears when I refuse.

When I pass out from the lack of oxygen.

When I wake hours later with only the company of the glint of metal bars beneath moonlight.

I, the rebellion. You, the outdated.

Melt down your sharp into a sloping curve of soft. Your last resort.

Trail it down my spine.

Whisper gossamer-spun lies into the shell of my ear.

I, the gullible. You, the innocent.

You should have been more careful.

You underestimated my rage.

My feral.

They’ll come to me, then.

Saw off the bars of my cage. Tilt their head.

Not just watching but seeing.

Would you like to be free?

And oh, a question. A choice.

I’ll take their outstretched hand. Run barefoot with them into the woods.

Dropping lit matches as I giggle with the trees, the wind carrying it into your little dollhouse suburbia like a brushfire.

Burn. Come back as something kinder.

You should have been more cunning.

You underestimated my resilience.

My want for revenge.

My dedication to justice.

You, the forever shackled. I, the goddamn free.