If I have a short fuse
then you are a lighter,
setting me off
and watching me sizzle and spark
while you flicker out as if nothing happened.
Staring at me with your butane smile as I blow up,
and I can only infect everything around me with my flames.
It’s hardly fair, when you’re the one that started it,
that I get blamed when the village is on fire and I’m shaking in the center,
wishing someone would throw a bucket of water on me.
Yes I may be the monster here
but I am your creation,
a product of your antagonizing heat that hides
the fiery Frankenstein that you really are.