The Crown Shaped to my head

Oh the largest grin could not compete with the distorted force my lips defy gravity with. As I once again reclaim the throne I thought I once tossed to those steps behind, but as true as the prophecy of self, here I be but three feet short, and with the tolling of my languish in my ears. For who doth the bell toll, is but simple, as it toll for They that wears the jesters crown. For like Toad, it’s no mere hat, no, but my head, disguised as which to blend in with those who’s feet proudly, confidently implant their souls into the earth below. In so that even the denizens of Hades would tell me apart as the one spot whos stalag mite not breach, for my weight is naught, and the screw on my head is no longer stalactite. Loose, like the holes traded for me against my will, but still, this grin, this smile, this languishing laugh echoes, as the scarlet drips from the long infected hole i my chest where I once let your warmth be reignited by my own. Foolish to think it would stop there. Foolish to think I no longer desire to feel that warmth. Foolish.

A Fool am I, proudly on this throne, who’s seat is morphed for my rear only, and my rear morphs for any I’ve learned since you. You were not the first, nor shall you be the last, but you made me feel a Foolish love in those moments none other have. How if not my chest nor my ass, then what ass am I to know what more to give to turn back father times cruel grip so see that smile and tenderness once more. The tolling blares, and I know my calling onto stage is approaching once more. This time, will you be there to enjoy the show?