Decadence and mischief follows me,
Like shadows of vultures flying low above.
Meanwhile, I crawl on the floor of dried bed of a seasonal river,
My arms are tied behind my ego,
My ass rests on former glory meant to have been.
Am chocked by my own success,
A scheme beautifully engineered by cohorts of Lucifer,
Dressed in royal regalia
Speaking in my mother tongue
He appeals to the masses
But only me she knows to be knowing,
An enemy of state of being,
I speak against her.
7th November, 2014