You think you own the room,
like every step you take
marks the earth beneath you,
like the air bends just to hear your voice.
You speak,
and I’m supposed to listen,
as if your words
are somehow sacred,
as if they matter more than mine.

I watch you,
with that smirk you wear
like a shield,
like you’re better than everyone here,
and maybe, for a moment,
you believe it.
You look at me,
and in your eyes,
I’m nothing—
just another shadow
waiting for your light.

But I see you,
really see you.
I see the cracks you hide behind that arrogance,
the insecurity stitched into every boast,
the loneliness disguised as confidence.
You try to make yourself larger,
but the bigger you act,
the smaller you become,
and I’m left wondering,
how long will this act last?

You are the king of nothing,
your throne is built on empty words,
on silence when no one’s watching,
on the moments you forget to pretend.
You need to believe you’re better,
but you’re not.
You’re just a man
who’s forgotten how to be real,
and I’m left here,
waiting for the day you finally fall,
and I’ll be the one who watches
with nothing but pity,
for the king who was never crowned.