Promising on his collection of antique thoughts,

Remembering back in the day, when she and him were a deuce,

Nowadays just a lone wolf, another know it all writing a tell all,

Searching for others who would be devotees of his machinations,

Partaking in each one of his vices of sin with extended zeal,

Forgetting their own footprints for a facsimile of reality

Success having no true tally,

Yet the nectar of personal accomplishment tastes sweeter in one’s hand fashioned cup of life,

Forever reminding the individual that it takes work to maintain an identity,

One neither store bought or slyly manufactured, but earned through experience and time