It was a fantasy, a hateful dream. Like ashes of another time. Kingdoms and war I was crowned with blood in my throne of corspes· their rotten doom is stinking still Power tends to birth a veil, and in its shadow I fell, and broke, collapsed and turned to pieces. Never knew i was fragile. My insides spilled on the floor And no one picked me up They stood there, gazing upon me upon my sickness I could hear the castle's murmurs "He is going to die". And its voice was dressed not in grief, but hope. They enjoyed the smell of my blood. The marble floor is now stained and I can feel myself fading. I start to melt inside there And they are standing, still gazing, still hoping The court was smiling and the coronation chambers that once haloed me with all my eulogies, are now bitting, smothering me, screaming otherwordly names. My walls and sheets, the floor is stabbing me with that filthy dagger. As if I'm not the One here, I stand in a worldless place· what a vicious enemy. I saw no light. Closing my eyes, "triumph" I heard- it echoed in my ears dearly, it sounded like a scream. There are no stained laurels around my forehead anymore, but I learned the evansescence of it all. No crimson and no gold can stop them now. I am cloaked in misery. I cannot win. It left a mark, for centuries. It's not a dream- I once ruled this stinking hole. And I'm dying again.