the lines and crevices
that has been created from
self love and overwhelming
demands to be the center,
accepting the applause of
the on looker who encourages
your every waking movement
At the end, nothing is like the
beginning, nothing like the false
words bringing one to the top
only to let the weight of their
body crumbles to the pits below to
wallow in their pitiful self destruction,
their words calling out now loudly –
'save thy dying withering spirit'
Intentions were of a solid ground
until that moment in time when
one became consumed with
immortality and the longing
to be held in the highest esteem
lingering within those minds
so that one may savor the taste of
oneself and glorify its own glory
Falsely bestowing thy self to
hundreds with slanted eyes with
greedy intentions to be on top
left the good will unwilling to
accept the challenges furthermore
as the burden became a load of
foolishness demanding a constant
uplifting ritual to remain as –
one weeps alone from exhaustion