Watching, waiting, bracing.
You are the matador,
Basking, waving, grinning.
You throw up that crimson flag
Taunting and triggering me
To fight back.
At this you are enraged,
So am I.
I am powerful
But you hold the power,
The flag, the spear, the chains,
And the key.
And I, the beast,
Will never win.