I once believed I could ascend,
Like Nina's wings, my world to mend.
But failure came, a quiet thief,
Stealing dreams and sowing grief.
Now I stand in shadows deep,
Pretending that I never weep,
A narcissist, I wear a smile,
Wading through my own denial.
I tell myself, “I never cared—
Success was never what I bared.”
But deep inside, I twist the tale,
A story where my heart prevails.
Like sour grapes upon the vine,
I tell the world it’s fine, it's fine—
I didn't want the shining prize,
Just the freedom to despise.
I paint my death as noble grace,
A perfect end, a proud embrace.
A story crafted, sharp and sleek,
To hide the truth I dare not speak.
For Nina's tale is mine to tell—
A myth I forged to shield my shell,
Where failure’s sting is sweetly spun,
A victory I've already won.