The King Of Nothing

Imagine being you—
all high horses and looked-down noses,
a self-proclaimed saviour
wrapped in borrowed righteousness,
wearing arrogance like armour
while the world sees through every crack.

Imagine being you—
nothing to show for everything taken,
a legacy of squandered chances,
a monument to mediocrity,
stacked brick by stolen brick.

Imagine being you—
the unraveller, the destroyer,
the one who victimizes mothers and sisters,
wives and children—
casting shadows and calling it light,
siphoning love
and spitting venom in return.

Imagine being you—
slithering through life,
a snake cloaked in piety,
preying on trust,
stealing from the fragile hands that once held you.

Imagine being you—
begging someone younger, the one you bled dry,
turning her love into currency,
her kindness into a well
you drained without pause,
even as she stood at the threshold of your salvation
with the door wide open.

Imagine being you—
claiming righteousness while hiding in plain sight,
cashing cheques you didn’t earn,
breaking hearts you were meant to guard,
and mistaking control for care.

But I don’t need to imagine being you.
You are you.
The slithering snake,
the self-important fool,
too blinded by your own reflection
to see the wreckage you’ve made.

Thank you for showing yourself
before we trusted you further,
before we handed you the keys to the kingdom,
before we gave you what you could never earn—
a place in something real,
a chance to build instead of destroy.

We are over here
building something honest,
something whole,
while you sit,
the king of nothing.

Enjoy your ill-gotten gains.
Enjoy the light
that now shines on your lies and your crimes.

And when you wonder
what could have been—
know this:
We would have given you everything.
But now,
you are nothing to us.