Your eyes watered like the falls of Victoria I almost fell in, I almost swam Disbelief left you speechless, yet the speech of inevitable accolades hung in the air. I bet you saw it coming, yet chose idleness— perched in the tree, hoping it would tire and leave without a piece of you Whisker of sunset, your flimsy limbs slowly descended. Delirious with exhaustion, you looked down to see my gaping mouth at the foot of the tree, ready to tear your deceptive flesh Up you went faster than twilight could say grace to the moon. You nestled, tucked, forever the disappointment I was too slow to spit out The lion in me roared. The branch snapped. The waters broke. Mercy is for the worthy— not the Rasputins glorious enough to move crowns yet vile enough to plow crowds Never had the courage to apologize, never the type to beg. You just walked away like it was nothing— a stroll down Matopo Hills after a contest with the falls That’s when I knew: your ego bled, not your heart, not your strength. It was never there in the first place Your ego returned with vengeance like Scar, proclaiming, look at me, I still sparkle I yawned with the boredom of Catherine at Peter’s ramblings. The pitiful soul, the man-child, heralding his new shiny toy— only to break it. Oh well. I’m not missing anything new.