Crown well-deserved | Poetry

Poetry


I fight to earn a breath
in this apocalyptic world,
but no one here has ever truly
breathed an original breath.

I crawl to earn my place,
but no one stops and looks.

Bruised knees, bleeding hands;
I have yet to earn their pity.

I will punch and kick my way
straight up to the top.
This apocalypse won't stop me
from clearing this poisoned air.

I will die as long-lived King,
but right now I am alone.

I breathe apocalyptic air,
and punch and kick and crawl.

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