Once was sitting on a golden throne, my empire was a huge space of happiness and winning, I took control of everything that came, there’s no chance for the word defeat in me. The crown and my turn was only for me, mine, and could never be steal. But changes happened and snakes appeared, they’re uncountable and I didn’t know which of them are venomous and not, but they all poisoned me.
They intertwined and scattered themselves around, I could sense it, sense the loathsome smell brought. They’re trying to hunt me and fool by their hissing voices. They grew and they became longer, bigger, their fangs became sharper and hungrier for thing to suck and body to put in their toxics. And they did, the pile of snakes rolled around me and my body and grabbed the chance to let their filthy, sharpened teeth get in touch with my precious flesh.
I was out of my vision, fell asleep in bitter, gallingly unacceptable reality that my castle would crush into tiny fragments through reptile’s laugh. It was evilic. Satanic.
I closed my eyes for a very long time but I now opened them again with only last drop of tear and shouted in vehemence. I am coated with dust and rust and smoke and heat and dirt and smell of putrid. Bricks beside.
My rare throne is seated by a abhorrent serpent, my soldiers and devastated, damaged palace is now ruled by a Mascara. The crown is on top but not of my head, and I only have this rounded layer of wires to wear.
At least I learned, things aren’t new. My power was rotten but I’ll wake it up from it’s death and resurrect everything like how I woke from my long dark color of black out, will take back what’s for me. I am now fake.