Vile like a look into a tarnished mirror
He sips on goats blood and laughs
At the scrambling mortals
Crushed beneath his throne.
Like a statue made of my bones,
He's been dead so long.
Misshapen diamond eyes
That cut open my hands,
And a mind of narcissistic sarcasm
Whose very existence
Makes me shudder and frown.
With this much stench around his lips,
I cannot help but sigh in relief
That he remains seated
In his chair of crushed smiles,
So far away from where I'm going.
Prince of Monterey,
Withered temple to solipsism,
What path will you
Trample and ruin next?