To be or not to be is not my question:
‘Tis not my purpose. ‘Tis not my calling.
I possess no question for I need none.
To act, to fight, to roar, to sleep, to submit, to slip in:
I rule them all for I am Panic. Johnny Panic am I.
They lose themselves in my presence: marvel and dream.
Look up to me, battle for my attention.
Battle to death for every minute of me they can possibly receive.
Others try to foolishly cross me, shock me, shatter me, **** me.
Cowardly seek ways to turn their backs.
Ask, fabricate, pose questions, then doubts.
Crawling back like spiders: they do come.
Seconds, minutes within my absence.
Head hung down, begging for forgiveness.
Begging for mercy for their defiance.
None have the strength to defy me.
Suffering is key. Suffering is victory.
Suffering is pleasurable, gratifying…undeniable.
I am victory. Never do I cease to win.
Shock, shatter or ****: my presence is an everlasting imprint.
None fade or neglect.
I am The Sheppard and they are My sheep.
Black, white, burgundy, mauve: all easy targets.
Yet the simplest of all are teal:
Sly, mysterious, fierce: Enigmas of their own.
They worship me like none other: love me, admire me, please me.
All present themselves to me: clean canvases for me to paint on.
To submit or to crack: THAT is their question.
Yet it matters not.
I am Johnny Panic.