I perform above them—
presence a favor the room should be grateful for,
each doorway my witness,
arms crossed, judging their jokes, their songs,
their outfits like I was commissioned to find their doom.
No one appointed me jury,
yet I appointed myself in the silence between their laughter.
I dissect their flaws in my skull
so I never have to confess:
I am terrified of being the one who breaks.
I keep myself distant enough
that no one sees the seams,
close enough to watch,
to sneer,
to pick apart their “small” ambitions
and soft dreams.
I name them basic, small-minded,
blind to the bigger picture only I seem to see—
but at home, in the quiet,
the echo returns:
Who the hell is actually beneath me?
I elevate myself by stepping on everyone else’s throat in my head,
while in the real world
I am just a man in the corner,
full of things unsaid.
I am king of nothing,
ruler of my own contempt,
no subjects left to rule.
My throne is built from inside jokes
and bitterness,
my mantle the weight of every wound I’ve inflicted.
If pride is the sin that strips you down
till you’re alone with your reflection and your bluff—
then I am royalty in a kingdom of emptiness,
too proud to call it what it is:
not enough.
Never fucking enough.
They invite me out less now.
Word travels when every conversation with you
feels like being graded on a curve.
They stop handing you their hearts
when each confession gets dissected
for how it fails to serve.
I call them weak, unable to handle
real talk, honest critique—
but the truth beneath my teeth:
I am jealous of anyone
who can be flawed
and still feel whole.
I’m just being honest.
Fuck you.
I built this tower of superiority
to avoid the humiliation of standing level,
of being seen.
Now the view is rooftops and quiet streets,
a horizon that never brings
what I actually need.
No one prays for my fall
because no one cares enough to watch my rise.
I am a legend only in my own stale mind.
If I ever climb down,
join the rest of them in the mud,
sweating and laughing and failing
in real time—
it will be the first honest dethroning
this life has seen.
Until then, I sit high,
King of Nothing,
Repeating I’m fine.