It was all about the drama, for it made a pitiful dance.
One fallen, rotten apple, took a solitary stance.
He was a deluded contender, thought himself a shinning star, but he was going on a bender, and was acting quite bizarre.
He was looking very foolish, he was looking very small, but he wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, and he was behaving like a tool.
He was one wave short of a shipwreck, a penny short of a pound. At his ranting and his ravings and his "fuck you" they all frowned.
His frustration his damnation, his infatuation his decline.
If he'd just take his medication, and have cuddles, he'd be fine.
But the drama did entice him, in his morbid fascination, to bring about, with what spewed out, his own assassination.
Want to join the conversation? Sign in to leave a comment.