Prove me a fool, then I shall dine at your table. But my mind has not been as oppressed by the heavy weight of sanity's absence, as you would have liked.
I can see through your windows, there are no silk curtains like you desire and crave, a guise to hide what really goes on in the darkness of your deeply worrying mind.
You think of me as a wounded deer, who dared to stare for too long, helplessly strewn across the side of your road, carrying vehicles quickly along to better places.
That long instructing finger of yours, points to billboards who say that I can be someone, live the lives of those I see behind a glass shield, so much more fragile than you think.
I am content atop my fort, while my foundations may be small, they are stronger than ignorance and folly, and I do not preach to ants to reach heights only to fall back down into a dust of your dirt.
I will never dine with you, and I will never come knocking at your door, as I am sure that one day your idiot soldiers will see behind the canvas of mistrust.