I once knew a king afraid to be seen; sequestered from a merciless worldly machine; grace was relinquished through selfish desires; sought shelter in darkness and yearned to expire. He found his solution in liquid pollution; it blackened his heart from a promising start. With nowhere to run from that unsettled feeling; without nostrum of sorts that could provide healing – not person, a place, a thing, or idea could muster the might to release him from here; sought high and low, both distant and near, to evade all the whispers that punctured his ears; to hold back dead eyes breaching banks filled with tears; to cease rustles of intensified, bone-chilling fears. But the heaviest head bears the weight of its crown; with a kingdom now fallen; his highness struck down; because reigning as ruler was not as it seemed; vibrations of love were cast out from the scene; contentment had vanished and peace grew extinct – civil war surged as his spirit unlinked.
For the majority of a relatively conscious existence along the road rising to ruler, alcohol was the driving force in propelling a barren spirit to life; in sprouting wings to soar through a vast and endless blue yonder; in supplying the obligatory courage to carry on, all the while constructing a magnificent empire solely for satisfaction of selfish desires; most of all, however, it assigned an unadorned ability to simply be. But seemingly as quick as the climb up through the atmosphere had been; as much as the thrill of excitement and discovery filled that deep emptiness through the conquering of new challenges, the predestined day still arrived – after all the promises, after all the codependent companionship, and after the acquisition of the fullest, most heartfelt allegiance – this friend, who turned out to be no more than a serpent in disguise, slithered its way under the cover of night to snatch away the sky; a spirit sent swiftly spiraling down into the depths of an abyss never comprehended in existence. Dethroned and uncrowned in the passing of night; a kingdom built on a lie had finally crumbled and fallen – those who remained in the land left shattered by a wake so strong and so devastating – deserted to despairingly fend for themselves; a king cursed to suffer, broken and alone, in the gutters of a realm now ultimately betrayed.
The king scoffed at the scene, laying nearly lifeless in the dilapidated dungeons under a city of ruins; cast blame on everything and everyone for the fall of an empire – how could the people do this? How could there be such betrayal of nobility or a double-crossing of such innate charity and loyalty? The world was far too trivial and petty to comprehend the magnitude of raising an illustrious kingdom to reign; they would never be worthy of understanding the potent pressure or significant stresses of ruling over a great land – reflections rapidly racing as progressively more mind-numbing potion coursed through the body, infesting a mind now drowned of its strife; a solution that consistently relieved any semblance of ailment; that, for a sacrifice of the seemingly irrelevant, placed a plug in the void of in an incessantly dehydrated soul – forever fueling an ego that cannot admit defeat; cosigning pure pride that would never allow for an acceptance of sole responsibility; dwindled, in turn, from an army of the ample, to the repression of the insufficient.
It is in this place the King would remain, wrapped up in the throws of selfishness, self-pity and resentment, for a great while as the city he had built continued to crumble all around him…