1 followed by eighteen zeros
a quiet cosmic joke of a number
a quark‑sized crown for a self‑anointed titan
who strides through markets like a barefoot prophet
selling futures in futures that never quite arrive
1000000000000000000
a string so long it sags under its own swagger
a boast inflated like a parade balloon
drifting above the crowd on hot air and hashtags
casting a shadow shaped suspiciously like ambition
this is the worth?? you whisper
and the number blushes, embarrassed
for it knows it was only ever a placeholder
a cardboard sceptre in a kingdom of spreadsheets
a decimal daydream dressed as destiny
still it marches on
1 and its trailing caravan of zeros
a procession of hollow drums
beating out a rhythm of
boom boom bust boom bust boom
and somewhere in the middle
a man with a rocket in one hand
and a meme in the other
tries to convince the universe
that gravity is optional
and valuation is a vibe
1000000000000000000
a lullaby for late‑night traders
a satire stitched from silk and static
a reminder that even the largest fortunes
can look suspiciously like
a single digit
followed by a very long pause.