King

Contemplations, which turn bones to dust
Feeling like I am going to collapse in on myself
Tear my eyes out before I give up
Tears bring out the decrepit years
Yet this is all that has ever been known
Sitting here on my futile throne
Within the boundaries of the kingdom of my distraught thoughts
All of them my own
Look at how the melancholy has grown
So proud
Disenchanted with the imaginary crowd
Can do as I please
No one real in here with me
Except the ones I make believe for company
Jesters to entertain
Whores to take away the pain
Dead authors provide conversation to stop the onset of going totally insane
In the volatile spiritual kingdom under my reign.