Prometheus

I am Prometheus. I carry fire in my pocket. I didn't steal the fire,
though. I always had it. I just stole the contraption that captures
it, always remembering that I hold the fire, it captures it. I may be
chained to this here rock, because they told me I stole (I was only
taking what was mine in the first place), but none of that matters
now. I was brought here in chains, raised in chains, fucked in chains,
was raped in chains, was wrapped in chains and lulled to sleep by my
mother, comforted in chains, at this point the chains feel like they
are made of the finest material in the world, like they are a part of
my skin. This rock I am chained to will never feel like anything but
what it is. In chains upon a rock is how I shall live out the rest of
my days, with daily little deaths they call my punishment to remind me
to not make this rock into a home.
I am Prometheus. Send your henchmen to feed off my liver, you unseen
baseborn idol who births unknowing bastards everyday and tells them
they came from underneath the virgin Lady Liberty's garment. I don't
need a fucking liver, but bring me libations anyway. Let me show them
where the fire really came from. Everyday I die la petite mort when
you steal my liver from me, and I let the alcohol ignite my blood to
give birth to my soul outside my mortal being. For I am the one true
container of fire and, the truth is, that is why my body is chained
here to this day.
I am not just Prometheus, but I am the very thing you claim I stole.
I am fire. And, yes, you are right. Everyday I steal myself back.
Everyday I steal away home. So after each climax of the day, I pull
out my lighter, light a cigarette, and blow a smoke screen in your
face while my phoenix of a soul goes off to inhabit the world happily,
while you think you got me under your thumb. Keep the cigarettes
coming, won't you?