Molotov dreams (a poem about bullying)

she was fourteen years old
when the boys at school
pressed her up against dark walls
in deserted hallways
and told her they'd light her house on fire
with the Molotov cocktails they'd made
just for her

shaking hands on an emptying bottle of brandy
she secretly drank herself to sleep
to dream of screams and a stake
where she was crucified
for reasons she couldn't comprehend

a post-traumatic-stress statistic
found foetal and crying, alone in a closet
long past the threshold of a therapists dream

all because a couple of country boys
had nothing better to do
then idly threaten a girl too scared
to understand that words weren't cocktails
waiting to be set alight
and murder her family while she slept

-Eve-