A failure to measure in self efficacy
the lion drags its mane
to sweep the floor so hopelessly
in an effort to hide its shame.
The quagmire consumes the wicked
but devours the righteous all the same
down in a hollow, sick, twisted
giving in to the weight of pain.
The gravity of this grief
plants us firmly in the grip of apathy
pray the despair be brief
delirious, at the hands of atrophy.
At the bottom of the well
is a gate unto immutable madness
endure this path through hell
and emerge from the infinite sadness.

Alone in what was won
Resist the call of a stepfather to son:
to my kingdom, come.