So full of yourself:
You Sir, is a boiled egg
trying too hard to learn
the art of arrant arrogance:
the steely, steady, baleful eye,
aided by a slight lift of the left lip.
But, behold your sagging jawline, Sir:
It is being pulled down by mere gravity!
Your drool’s barely held back by your blinking.
You, Sir, is less a boiled egg than a bloated bullfrog.
But, Sir, can you hear?
Can you hear the tremble;
the primal tremor inside you?
Feel the fuzz of frazzled thoughts;
the intrusion of chaos and uncertainty.
And yet you thought you had it detained!
And so, secretly you ask: who, really, is this?
Who really is this boiled egg shaped as a bullfrog?
If you really think and feel, Sir, only then will you know:
You, Sir, are not an egg or bullfrog; just a bumbling bubble.
