Work Text:
Don’t you want to rush in there and free him?
Don’t you want to tear at the chains that bind him?
Don’t you want to throw them into the furnace
and then throw them again once they’re red and hot
with fire thongs so you don’t burn your hands as well?
What’s stopping you? Aren’t you half-blind now
and getting blinder? What can you even see
except your precious Gatchmon wrapped in chains
and on his knees with your red-rimmed eyes?
Are you the type of person who’s a pacifist
through and through?
Are you the type of person who cringes
when the heat pricks and the blood burns
your nostrils till your face runs pale
and everything’s red: red and a swirling haze
of anger and nausea and pain –
But you’re not pale. Your eyes are shrewd instead
as if you’ve seen through the ruse –
But how could you have seen through the ruse?
Your precious partner’s there, in chains:
what more do you need to see?
But you do see. That’s why you pause
and the ruse comes crumbling down.