trophies

the thing that shines for him. might be the thing that blinds him. but he chases after them all the same.

whether it’s the paper or the women around him, what matters is they give him worth. they are currency for his soul.

they make him feel good but like every high he’s got to come down sometime. little knowing. until. the day too late when poverty hits, and reality calls him to a pawn shop.

and the man says these, to me, are worthless.

you succeeded in the things that do not matter, you failed in the only thing that did. what is your collection now?

he could only avoid the whispers for so long. now all the pretty little things that once shined so bright don’t seem so grand. now success has no other taste than bland.

what are they now, but simple pieces. pieces to remind him that a broken case can never serve as a place to display them. no matter how many he has won.

he is the king. he is the king. he is the king of beggars.

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