I am what I despise, what I judge
with my own eyes, every day.
I am the king in yellow, my own fellow
sinner, winner of no single chicken dinner.

I’ve ricked and rolled,
stumbled and strolled,
coasted and roasted

myself for not knowing what everyone seems to know.
What we need is what we show,
what we say is what we want to be told.

Behold, the complement, the compliment, the flattery,

the self-completing battery and assault
on and off my motivation. Am I self-obsessed, in fault
or in a bad relation with my life-sustaining battery?