I’ve become the belligerent sycophant, my enemy, my created opposite, my absolute nightmare. I’ve become him.
A faceless man who walks to work, works
works, and works and works for no reason except a notion that the future will be something different.
Doing nothing expect starring at a screen figuring out new inventive ways to get attention and get himself into trouble.
An under-appreciated glory seeker with eyes on the front pages and ears to wall.
An unwanted attention seeker with ladders for chairs and stairs to nowhere except the pointless notion That
someone somewhere cares about his ranting and sycophancy.
A brilliant expression when used corrected can get precious nothings for free. A soul is worthless if it does not exist, so why not chip a little away and sell it for treats?
All for nothing. A rubbish excuse for an even rubbisher act.
There is no redemption, no forgiveness no roses.
Only disgust, and regret and absolute sorrow
(how dare i even construe such an act)
A absolutely selfish idea that there is no coming back from, all the sycophancy in the world, could not save his fall from grace, his once lovely’d place is stained and destroyed and all because he could not control his
Obsequious fawnings over worse magics then what destroyed troy.
The bible offers no solace in this case, as Moses himself was never allowed into the promised land.
All for hitting a rock.
Cleopatra, a women who survived among the throngs of brutes and savage men, with such lovely sycophancy,
Would feel embarrassed at such a lost notion, a gripe at attention, a yell for affection, with no recollection of the horrible angst it would cause and pain it would construct. Destroying love, that was not meant to exist, a love fought for and earned that is meant to last.
Making myself so weak and fickle and disgusting.
I don’t deserve you.
I worship you.
I will do anything for you.
I still don’t deserve you.
(I would write a book of psalms just to make you think one good thought about me. Just one.)