As I watched the empire fall, I witnessed a new era rise amongst my palms. I could keep telling myself this was the end or keep grasping onto a city I know whose skyscrapers would keep plummeting.
The sun rose so bloody, but I sat still in my chair watching my own thoughts besiege the villages below. I could live in regret, or keep my anger running on a treadmill. The trees sway with my bitterness, but the wind smelled of sweet renewal.
I hear the same screams and cries, over and over. It had gotten old. I had gotten tired. The shadows tell me I would not understand, that I could never understand—yet the scars beneath my wrists lie dripping with my own mournings. My neck grips itself in angst, my head still feeling the tip press itself against my temple. My finger slides cold from the lack of trigger clicks, how could I possibly understand? Yet my memories steer cold, fresh of blood that would've been down the drain behest the poison of painkillers and antidepressants.
They say I wished upon their own deaths, yet I was simply utilizing the daggerings of their own words. They made their promises, made their own downfall clear, so I fiddled with the needle and shoved it back into the haystack. They stumble upon the ink of their own pen and made their scribbles my signature. One side of the notebook may be skewed, as the other eye turns bitter and blind, but set still in stone are the etchings teared into the sword.
I simply phrase what cannot slip off one's tongue, the urn of truths that cannot be broken. The poems that are marked have been crammed into the files—and so stay still the hypocrisy of human concept. The shadows tell me I can and will never understand the aching of one's pumping veins yet my eyes drip glass from torn moments whose hot coals keep my feet worn thin.
You expect me to forgive? You expect me to believe the pitied saliva that simply has strewn down your worn tongue? You say the same venom that has busted the nerves of every kingdom, tainted the same smiles whose teeth I eerily watched fall out. You say change is there, that you have manipulated the thread once and can weave a different path again but same fate could be said for all fallen kingdoms, whose debris sit crumbling amongst sand in the gravel.
You possess the same faith those poor beggars had, who watched their own castle collapse upon them—watching the pools of blood run awry into the ash rivers. Like a greek portrait did I have my hand for yours to grasp into Olympus but like Icarus do you foolishly burn your own feathers off and sit in melting tar on the ground. I only wished what Demeter did for her daughter but you eat the pomegranate seeds and damn yourself into a coldness further than Lucifer's blackened halo.
No further will I let a deafened ear twist my morals. You have sown the seeds of your words into the ground, watered them to ripeness and then yell treason when I pull them from the dirt and hand you your own crops from my shabby hands. May it take an empire for your skyscraper of foolishness to come crashing down. Your definition of love is more twisted than the scriptures of the Bible throughout millennia's, more scorn than the ideas of today—verses plucked like feathers to wrap an ideology around tattered lightbulbs.
A mind more broken than bones—Attempting to contempt me with a crumbled head yet fail to realize how I've had to wrap my own wounds and lick the scratches from my own paw. The things you say to me now are but a rusted coin diminished by modern value. Deep inside you know you cannot change the threads of fate, but that promise you make yourself will only lead you down a path darker than Jupiter's clouds.
Watch the skies falter, you do not share his stars as you attempt to fumble so, but keep holding onto what golden coins the kings have but unseeingly dropped to your feet, a waste from their treasure they have but to bother with. You're nothing but a hopelessness far gone like Zeus in his power, like Odin when he chained up Fenrir—like when Henry VIII could not bear a son and in its stead lie the bodies of unfortunate maidens too crosseyed for their demise.
