Peacock, you wretched, pathetic display,

A monument built from the rot of decay.

You strut like a king, but you smell like defeat,

A carcass of pride with the world at your feet.

Your feathers are filthy, your crown is a joke,

A plume of illusions that choke as you croak.

The louder you caw, the less you are heard,

A broken man hiding in the shell of a bird.

You dance in the gutters, you bathe in your lies,

A sewer of sin spilling out of your eyes.

Your voice is a plague, a venomous hiss,

A serpent that bites at the hand it can’t kiss.

Peacock, you wallow in filth you create,

A slave to your hunger, a harbinger of hate.

Your talons tear flesh, but they’ll never break ground,

A scavenger circling the scraps he has found.

Your heart is a void, your soul a black hole,

A tyrant who traded his worth for control.

You bleed insecurity, drip with disgrace,

A parasite feeding on your own disgrace.

You dress yourself up in the spoils of your schemes,

A king of the ashes, a prince of dead dreams.

Each step that you take spreads the rot of your name,

A trail of destruction, a legacy of shame.

Peacock, you crumble, your wings turn to dust,

A skeleton lost in the throes of its lust.

The world watches on as you wither and die,

A fallen god screaming at an empty sky.

No phoenix will rise from the corpse of your soul,

No echo will carry the sound of your role.

For Peacock, your kingdom was built on a lie,

And nothing remains but your ghost in the sky.