You sit on a gilded throne, so focused on looking charming and inviting,
But your throne is made of thorns that draw blood,
You are poisonous and deceitful,
God forbid that your mask falls and people find out who you really are,
Your image is your best asset, so you use it to your advantage,
You would rather turn away from the people who cherish you when things got hard,
Abandoning them when they needed you,
Instead of resolving it and coming out on top.
I guess my role in your court was that of a jester,
Merely being a fool, and you getting the last laugh.
Never again will I step foot in your court, and be ridiculed once more.
11/12/22
YOU ARE READING
Rainfall
PoetryA collection of poems written by me, some are based off my experiences or just random inspiration.
