WHERE KINGS ARE BORN

They'll stab you in the back,

right to your face,

they correct the wrongdoing in no way,

dwelling on the survivalist instinct of elimination of the fittest,

culminating in the dystopian. 

Spell check says that is not a word,

Automation is the enemy of memory.

Corruption is at it's essence the elimination of emulation,

coeval with the genetic revival of distinction,

time obviates the survival of obstruction,

culminating in the harvesting of dissociation.

I am less than I was before,

but I was a slave to copying sentiment,

a human fax machine,

that's how I made it through university

for so many years,

I translated what they said,

that's all I did,

I emulated authority.

This was what was taught to me, the cusp of reason,

and in this critical regard, I was one with what potential?

The potential of the authenticative confirmation of a skill,

set in the vitalization of instinct,

culminating in dreams.

Dreams where enemies set their swords to rest,

at the bottom of lakes

and other likely locales,

where kings are born.