The Prince Of Fools

I’d like to fist your face and ram my heat into that gaping maw of yours. I’d soon stifle the spewing of verminous edicts that echo through that empty brain pan of yours. I want to grab each dirty matted syllable by its tail and stuff it back down your throat.

Your banality is a parody of thought. Yours are clown words with big grotesque fuck off feet that trip and stumble into my bleeding ears. Every time you open that repulsive mouth of yours I feel like I’m being held hostage by an amoeba. You drain my strength – you suck me dry like a bath full of leeches.

You gobble up useless information like an omnivorous vacuum cleaner, which is why your head is full of dust and shit. You can’t lay claim to thoughts, because all your thoughts are borrowed and overdue. You have a talent for engineering mountains into molehills and reducing the inspirational into the inconsequential.

I think your knowledge is a burden; it brings you no joy. Everything you’ve learned has only fuelled your delusions. You are the Napoleon of conceit, an emperor of denial. Every situation calls for anxious new equations – can you make a bid for the centre of attention? Will you play it safe on the central reservation? You get your jollies brow beating your victims with the ten cent words you borrowed from Readers Digest. You’re a passive – aggressive pick pocket with a treasure chest of petty triumphs.

You celebrate your skirmishes in the isolation of your fantastic dramatic reconstructions; you told them good – they sure know now. You are one in a million, a prince among paupers. You’ve turned egotism into an art form and all your vices into virtues. But your mind is crowded with recollections of cringing servile retreats in the face of forces cognizant of your minor league status.

Your house of cards folds its hand when your bluff is called. Those moments of embarrassment last an eternity in the dark hallways of your memory. It’s then, in the concealment of your empty bed, that the snagging doubts tug at your heels. They drag you down into the depths of the sullen certainty that you are merely a tin god, and a hollow man. You know then that you are not a winner – because you never ever ran.