Phoney

Born a commoner, yet living like a king
the smell of hay is felt from a distant
in a glass house you are the ruler
the bearer of life and the keeper of it

the taste of grapes in the morning,
the lust for more at night,
a nocturnal functionalist you are,
yet you still have all you need

the houses bought bring happiness
the fiction you have started to believe
for anything is just reality to the losers,
for you have made it

waking up from Egyptian cotton,
taking long garden walks
disregarding the law for you are it
still that arouse the beast in you

you live as an idea,
an idea of peace
a symbol of reality
yet you don't know what that is

lying to your friends about the harmony in your home
is your house even in order,for you don't even know
your wife has a dozen therapists, you do too,
working on your marriage, you work on people

the power you put in drains you
a walking menace that you are
like a bomb you implode daily
the tenacity to remain a figure has left..

the skeletons you hid are bubbling up
were you just a phoney, that's your biggest question
do nightmares ever scream louder?do the pills work?
do you need more soil to cover it all up?