Megalomania

Do you want to see my cage?
It’s deep within my hand dug grave.
A sense of purpose that doesn’t quite fit.
Maybe I am starting to realise how far I did slip.
Not a fraction of the dose of my pain.
What I feast upon might just breed the grain.
A section of myself not aligned and secured.
These crevices many times I have toured.
Seeking out segments to reignite.
Each one of them only breeds my might.
Crushed under the mass of claims against me.
Cast out the net to see where I need to be.

Silence and don’t say a word.
Megalomania is what has been stirred.

Can you look into my empty stare?
Do you think there is a soul still in there?
A clue comes three times after four.
Just at the point when I agree the flaw.
A rupture deep within the container of grief.
One of the voices keeps saying chief.
But what is dust without a way to clean?
I’m not looking to be supreme.
Simply push past the barrier I need it not to be.
Am I the only one who can still see?
The answer is mute much like the point.
I feel endless pins stabbing every joint.

Silence and don’t say a word.
Megalomania is what has been stirred.

Sedate and bag it for a study review.
A number of figures claim I am the few.
Short on faculties that should form a shape.
Because I am the rendered one who did scrape.
Rap on the periphery of what came before.
Bend your knee and accept me as your…
King on the mountain.
There is no doubting.
I’m God in your mind.
These are the scriptures that prove you all are blind.