on top of a broken throne,
a hopeless ghost that eloped with control
and then leapt off a cliff when
he was supposed to invoke
all those happy memories,
sits uncomfortably.

half of his entropy flows from disasters detached from his history
and the rest is the wind through the trees grown from bitter seeds
thrown into the dirt of what was meant to be forever.

crowns melt with enough heat.
clouds swell above the heads of those condoning his death,
a true crown for the ugly...

off with his head!
off with his head!
off with his head!

he sees them seething and he forgives himself for being a fool
as their screams retreat from the growing light of oblivion.