Discomfort writhing in my throat

Itch of things that I despise,

Words slip sweetly off my tongue

While envy peels behind my eyes.


She who braves me at my game

We who snarl beneath our smiles,

But battleground lies at my door

Weaknesses that I must hide.


We who strives for perfect truth

Find our niche fit-in-be-known

To maintain my front, I battle

Only to see that hers has grown.


Will I accept inevitable?

Let the sun burn down the sky!

The moon will trek its lonely cycle

And to the earth we stage our lies.