Five, four, three, two, one.
I hold my life at the end of a gun.
Casual affliction carved from moan.
Everyday I’m much like a dog with a bone.
Stubborn, argumentative fool.
Some might even brand me a tool.
But to be honest I couldn’t give a damn.
Because I, am who I am.
Make me the martyr.
Dubbed a fire starter.
The soul you love to hate.
Though ask me a question I won’t be guessing.
For I know your secrets right beyond the gate.
Threats, blackmail and treachery.
Accusations often levelled right at me.
False claims backed up but absolutely naught.
Yet everyone convinced, its clear they’re bought.
Its why the shackles were slapped in place.
Meant to serve as permanent disgrace.
Though nothing changes the lies been told.
They will remain long past our bodies our cold.
Make me the martyr.
Dubbed a fire starter.
The soul you love to hate.
Though ask me a question I won’t be guessing.
For I know your secrets right beyond the gate.
Never will I be changing!
When I was young that was where I was mistaken!
Tried to fit in and be a part of the group.
Not a chance I’ll repeat and become mute.
Not worth the price, the pain or the loss of control.
Instead I’ll stick to my stitched together whole.
Make me the martyr.
Dubbed a fire starter.
The soul you love to hate.
Though ask me a question I won’t be guessing.
For I know your secrets right beyond the gate.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 