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