Being this powerful is a plague
A mask of sorts, shielding us from reality
Whether or not we wish to remember being
Normal
Normal?
A rather self centered term
For those decaying minds
Trying to grab a hold of any
Last inkling of humanity they once had
The futility of it all
Vain attempts to regain lost face
Or a sold soul
But the price is too high
Because the most valuable thing you retain
After forfeiting your innocence
Is your willingness to fight for it back
And if you sold that too...

There are far too many people
Scrambling
Pushing to be perfect
Or rather
To be labeled perfect
We say
You are only as perfect
As those around you perceive you to be
And if you play a good game
Then you eventually end up winning
But winning
Is a small reward
In return for an overpowering
Hubris
Your eventual downfall

So here we stand
Apotheosized because
We are perceived as immortal
No
We are just dead
Dead to all popular culture
And fashions
So we appear
Placid as water on a clear day
Stoic
And so they wonder
Why do we not strive to be at the top?
The reason is
That the top is so small
Finite
And if we tried
We could get there
But the top
Was not
Made
For

Two