On thrones

What is it that you don’t understand? What part of my life would you like me to unravel or hinder from you so that you feel better about yourself? Your insecurities are starting to shine like neon lights of an old motel in a dark alley. They flicker with fear at what you might discover or fail to see. It’s unnerving, isn’t it? How the past has essentially shaped the present but we disavow it and call it our nemesis for it reveals that before us there was someone else that mattered, another that had taken a seat in that very throne, whose cushion might still be warm, and carry traces of the former occupant’s scent. We feel the need to piss all over it (to blot out the smell) and all around it to mark our territory. What we don’t realize is that it’s our own piss we’ll be sitting in until we get dethroned, for no one is going to clean it up for us. One day we will simply be asked to leave, and the throne we had foolishly thought was strewn with someone else’s skin and brain cells will be thrown out, just like the last one was.

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