Categories > Original > Poetry0 Reviews
Special something, for someone who used to be special to me. A gift in a way, a prediction.
Applause, ready for your fall.
Take this pill.
And fear they’ll never take their hats off to you.
Armed with ridicule, take flight, only to have your wings bled dry.
This madness will only drive you,
beyond cliffs and human structure,
to the frayed ends of your own sanity.
Move an inch, cut the line.
In two, you’ve surrendered yourself to the masses.
A bloody display to the public,
a powerful message to the puppeteers.
And when the crimson flow stops,
your kingdom will be restored, in death.
It is here, where you’ve no one to serve ridicule to,
no living thing or otherwise, will take pleasure in your pain.
But what need would there be, when all that’s left is a broken soul, an empty shell of failure.