The ocean of blood,
Pouring from the golden centerpiece.
Avarice seeping from your veins.
The greed of your curators
Spawning your jealousy.
You needed to be the best.
Didn’t want to be stepped on,
Ground into the dirt.
You’re different,
But we all still like them more.
You change and change and change,
But you’ve only stayed the same.
Tired.
Fingers sore.
Added too many wrinkles.
That won’t fix anything.