In the hall of arrogance, she struts,
A deluded queen, believing she holds the guts.
Laughs echo in the corridors of conceit,
As she boasts of triumphs, self-declared and sweet.
Her pedestal built on a foundation of air,
A throne of pretense, she claims to wear.
But I, the scorned jester, see through the guise,
Amidst the laughter, truth never lies.
Mockingly, she parades, thinking she's supreme,
Blind to those who silently scheme.
In the theater of pride, the spotlight's cruel,
Her grand performance, a venomous duel.
So, I laugh, a torrent of fiery spite,
As her ego soars to an infernal height.
For in her belief of superiority,
She's just a pawn in her own fool's tragedy.
....................
"I no longer pretend to be strong and fearless when I'm not..."
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The Writer and Her Daydreams
PoetryA prose and poetry collection where dreams transform into something real.
