Perfecting the masterpiece that was my own,

In the center of it all I ruled on my throne.

Of the world beyond I did not know,

Outside of these boundaries I dared not go.

Morning light came, and the sun arose.

Jewels of dew drop dangling off of my toes.

I waited for movement, vibrations to show,

That a feast would be tangled, beginning to slow.

Gorging upon my prey there was company that I hadn’t missed,

I had been given a grant in which I nurtured and kissed.

Then with candy stained fingers came a flick of a wrist,

Then my world was gone, into the morning mist.

Gazing back up, I silently mourned.

A gash in perfection, the fingers had torn.

I expressed my contempt, I cursed and I scorned.

My perfect world was no longer; my perfect world was no more.