My shoulders scrape the splintered header of this sagging door
I drag my bloated ego like a carcass across the floor
I grew too tall on hollow praise and mountains made of ash
Now I am forced to bow before the weight of my own trash
The ceiling is a heavy hand that pushes on my spine
A jagged wooden penance for a hubris quite divine
I see the grease upon the walls and feel the humid air
While stripping off the arrogance I used to always wear
Bending down until the vertebrae begin to snap and slide
Collapsing in the doorway of the things I tried to hide
The house is small and honest and it smells of dirt and rain
While I am just a giant made of self-inflicted pain
Down upon my shaky knees to find a way inside
Drowning in the wreckage of a massive wounded pride
I used to look at every man from a summit in the clouds
Designing all my sentences for the cheering of the crowds
But the wood is low and unforgiving to a head of stone
I am forced to face the silence in this hovel all alone
I crawl across the threshold where the shadows pool like ink
Wait for the jagged bitterness to settle and to sink
The floorboards groan a warning as I shift my massive frame
A man without a title and a man without a name
I am lacing up the failure while the light begins to dim
Drinking from a broken cup right up to the jagged rim
The rafters are a ribcage for a heart that wouldn’t beat
I am humbled by the splinters and the blisters on my feet
There is no room for standing in this crawlspace of the poor
Just the slow and steady rotting of the hinges on the door
I lay my forehead on the dirt and let the fever break
Giving up the legacy I didn’t want to make