From the stench of narcissistic temperament.
If these feelings don’t learn how to evaporate,
I will puke regret.
The peasants need to perform for the King,
Need to bow,
Need to bathe,
Need to fondle his serenity.
His footsteps walk on pedestals,
His whisper is a scream,
Murder in the kitchen,
Is a majesty’s wet dream.
He turns kittens into knives,
Sharpening tooth comb alibis,
To hear a laugh from my goodbye,
I hope there are flames where you reside.
Apologies will not turn back time,
Words with deflated air will not make me break down,
I retire the weight of a stubborn bee,
Buzzing in circles and wasting energy.
It must be damaging to be so lonely,
Bones that break and never repair,
You could be the richest man on Earth,
And still, no one would care.
The path I walk will be dangerous,
I’ll kill with kindness every fight,
The King is a scared, little boy,
Hiding in broad daylight.