you eat flesh in a cleaned room
with a seaside view.
you devour the world
(or so you think)
with a single swallow.
in dreams that feel like
apparitions,
you appear.
you clutch your ego against your chest
as if it’s a blessing.
your iron lung fills my head
with black smoke.
i envy those who can say no.

recently,
i apologize on the behalf of other people.
you’re smiling with blood in your teeth
the enamel worn through,
yellow in color.
staying afloat has become impossible.
you’re the ambushing shark
in a pool of my nerves and tissues.
somehow drowning with your fangs
around my rouge shadow.

your ego has eaten you alive.
you push against the walls of your pursuer.
it chokes back your spinal cord.
completely empty,
betrayed by your own creation
you must be angry
while i sit and watch,
blood on my lips,
solid foundation.

And so I found what I was looking for
Finally content, but I wanted more
So I gave all that was left of me.
And I was so sure.

But who am I kidding.

The Gods did not say I could be happy.

What a fool I was.
What a fool I was to think that I, a mere mortal could finally be at ease.
Then again I suppose that is what happens to those who want more.

For I only ended up twice as miserable when I came crashing back down.
-Persephone

there are times
when the meaning
of a word
is asked
one that
has been read
and regurgitated
used regularly
correctly adopted
as part of
an apparent
well-read
   or pretentious
vocabulary
however upon
being asked
its meaning
there is only
a blank
vacuous
addled
unable to provide
a succinct
or even literate
definition

to save face
to re-establish
the hubris
of this
abashed lexicologist
analogous alternatives
will be offered
oversimplified
synonyms
carrying a little
less gravitas
a layman's explanation
to maintain
position on his
self-congratulatory
podium

I am a man amongst but men.
dearth of viles that tread the hubris of but my foil.
trials and tribulations of mine, are but ubiquitous to My realm.
within I the Virtues effervescent, ever present, etched beyond this mortal coil.
                   Eyes see shuffles of fools shuffling, huddling, meddling, hitering and withering!
quivering in insipid hoards, fatigue lay waste to their bereft souls!
I gaze upon above, there is -- cannot be -- no hope
                                    ; but below they implore -- to no doubt escape my scorn?
                     -- YES! -- for I AM Ozymandias! king of kings!
                                                                                                         look upon my works ye and despair! Nothing beside remains.
          for besides was, yet can nevermore be great -- laid for waste by the sands, escapes of which not men, but a haze!  
                                                                                            ...yet i shall stand ***** -- above -- above all the rest?
declared have i this mortal coil shall not wither -- n'er shuffle, nor huddle -- like men thither?
for my virtues are... ineffaced through numerous toils?
or is my perseverance akin to, YE, oh foil?
surely Y'er vile and decrepit fate, cannot subject upon me its gaze?
                                                                                                    perchance? oh how that would -- not -- be deranged!
for I AM Ozymandias...


                                             ...yet I am -- but -- a man amongst men -- who escaped Ozymandias, within the sand

You see,
I seem to have caught
the deathly hug of hubris
I know everything
But what does it all mean?
The pleasures of life go right above my head
And time drips from my fingertips
Plip, plop, plip
I am a blip
And this hug,
Why does it make everything so sad?

the genius
of his spirit isn't
allowed to be
confident

the muses around
his works
laugh at his
shy hubris

his connections
to the creative are
buried under a
desert

his voice
is full
of charisma
and doubt

there's something
in the way
of love

his heart is
alone in hell

in his father's
home
searching for the
way

his life is a
lightbulb
as bright as
it is empty

just like his
poetry

You’re always right
Until you forget that you’re alive
You’re always righteous
Until you forget what is right

Your soul is a paper kite
And the wind that blows sets it alight
But your body is flightless
You recall when you fall from a great height

You’re screaming into
An endless void
Hearing an echo
Of your own voice
Screaming back at you
Filling your own void

𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲
ℑ𝔫 𝔞 𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔬𝔬𝔪 𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔩𝔩, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢
𝔐𝔦𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔯 𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔦𝔱 𝔞𝔩𝔩