Phantasm with Bones

by Emma Miao 

TW: gun violence

We open at sunrise. The stage is set under flashing lights. 
                                                A theatre
                                                                        where the convict always dies. 
                        The intercom
                                    buzzes, spastic:
                                                                                    surrender
& you’re lurching within the construct, 
                                                                        flesh bruised 
                                    by the white bars. 
 
            Soon, the hourglass will crack.
                                    Patiently, I teeth this cardboard street. 
On cue, 
            I explode into one million tremolos. 
                                                                                    I burn the walls
                                                                       with my fingertips.
                        I raid the Capitol. 
 
                                                                        The puppets flail on their axes, 
            their strings caught in the machinery. 
                                                            They jerk, spitting out 
                        rubber bullets and 
                                                paint bullets and 
                                                                        real bullets and 
splaying open their wooden mouths.
                                                            It starts to snow. 
                                                                                    My eyes burn, because it is ash. 
 
            Applause flutters through the darkened room. 
On the stage, 
                                               the bones are all the same colour. 
 
            The crowd calls:             Give us more
 

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