The world around us is on fire and here I am just writing this poem

God is a flamethrower

I am his match

glistening with the sticky

leftovers of the melted

burn of all our liberties

out of control

the bright orange flame

of ignorance still burns

the same flame we as kids

warmed our hands to

banging the same drum

as everyone else until

that year when followers

drank the Koolaid because

sheep do what they‘re told

because sheep don’t move

when their necks are being

slit open