I am sick to death of your theatrics
Cutting veins, dissecting your brain.
It is dark under this myopia
Waiting patiently on the scaffold
Won’t you cut it already
We play a game of anticipation.
Ribbentrop, or wrap my ribs,
Long drop, do it so it’s six feet
I’m not much one for humanity.
Nor are you, Marquis, bloated with sadism
I dare you: release the trap
I want to know how it is to choke.
A finely fit necklace, tan like my skin
I say no prayers; I need no aid
I’m ready, by God, I’m ready
I dare you: release the trap.
You and this awestruck audience
Expect me to dangle, like a fleshy ornament;
But I will rise upwards
A balloon fat off fiery helium.
I am no seraph, rather
A demon, bat out of hell.
You think you have me tied down,
But I am holding the rope.
painting: “Man on Fire” (2013), Ang Kiukok