by Hannah Pickering
How heavy your tarnished crown must be, Your Majesty.
I remember when it shined like the rays of light cascading down from the heavens.
Did the burdens of your people become too much for your head to bear?
How small you are; you;re practically folded in on yourself, Your Highness.
I remember tall, proud shoulders.
Did the weight of the worlds become too much for your shoulders to bear?
Come now, I know that headpiece is cumbersome but isn’t it polite to greet your guest by looking them in the eyes?
Ah, there we go, grasp that last bit of fleeting pride and grit and look upon me.
How sunken and dark your eyes are, Your Grace.
I remember bright orbs that shined with unbridled passion and innocence.
Did the gravity of your sins become too much for your eyes to bear?
Your Majesty, Your Highness, Your Grace.
You are none of these.
You are a nothing who was ruled far past his prime and your reign ends here.
So, crumble skeleton.
Crumble into the dust of that you formed from.
The new King has arrived to take his place.