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.