Perhaps the story can only be told if it tells itself.

If it unfolds like a map, a wrapper, a leathery pouch that reveals a sheath,

You've gone through great strains of self-preservation to tell it.

your adoring fans sop the gravy of the greasiness of the version you bequeathed,

But the tale does not run in smooth aromatic flows, you dolt.

It slices through the bullshit and the desperately dished out mirth,

Through the womb that sorounds your festering fabrications,

gutting the mystery for which you've built and all that it was worth,

Oh you little minstrel, you court jester...you fool,

pulling rabits out of boxes before the court of eager queens enjoying you

but this giftwrapped delight will unravel by itself...you fool

to reveal a phoenix from the ashes inside, with every intention of destroying you

Yes, the story can only be told if it tells itself.

แทนไท

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[Edited 1/13/12 9:39am]