burn, burn, burn, burn
retaliation is needed, because
in this dying breath of mine,
generations of poets and writers
hang off my lips, their words like a
throng of literary floods upon my conscience

lift me from this plane, because
if i remain, i shall become uncommon
gaining upon those who are also uncommon
hills will obstruct my way to the top, but
to hell if anything will stop me while i push and barrel through
set me down onto a bed of flames and watch me burn