the story burns
an inferno inside my skull
as the world sparks
and flares around me
the words screaming
a clarion call to arms
as the ruthless tyrants
exert themselves with
the volatile rage born
from knowing how small
they truly are in
the grand scheme of things
dollar store dictators
clinging to scraps of
power to claw furrows
of insolent hatred deep
into the fabric of a
world which doesn’t even
acknowledge they exist
reworking an already
broken system to benefit
thenselves at the expense
of all the worker ants
they secretly despise

my only hope is to be
the molotov in the darkness
igniting the scraps into
a dumpster fire large enough
to burn them into greasy ash
an incense for the soul
as the filthy pigs cry out
in an eternal agony for which
there is to be no reprieve
ground to nothing beneath
the thundering boots of justice