It is the greatest disappointment,

the most botched assassination of our time,

there was poison and a gun

and you threw me in a lake,

but I rose despite the celebrations.

 

They say to play to the crowd,

but that’s difficult when you’re the villain

or more likely

an anti-hero.

 

There are hisses and boo’s

and maybe somebody throws a lamp

or a hamper full of your clothing at you,

but you move on.

 

I can imagine the shock while you

were smiling and thinking about how

you had defeated me,

the way you grinned as a boy pulls the wings

off a fly

or the legs and antennae

off an ant,

but suddenly the writhing insect became

something more.

 

I can’t imagine the shock of it,

and the attempt at refocusing the

magnifying glass until you realized

my body had burned itself already

and the ashes of me would no longer catch.

 

There’s one thing about the phoenix,

once I’ve feasted on my flesh in my own fire,

no pain can push me back or chain hold me down,

I soar.

 

Your strongest hate and spite could never touch me now

and certainly

should never again

and there is only death in you.