by Nick Gisburne
From streets of gold to pathways paved with shit,
The road to ruin leads her, limping, down.
A burning sky reveals the scale of it,
The city where a princess crushed her crown.
No tyrant or dictator ever rules
Beyond the cold corruption of the rich,
But when they tried to train her, tame her, fools,
She found her perfect calling: perfect bitch.
A stab of hatred, envy, or deceit,
Whatever grim advantage she could find,
Destroyed them, inch by inch, the dazed elite,
Too slow to sense the malice of her mind.
She let them fight, to let the city learn,
Remembering the bitch who made it burn.
