We are the kings and queens
of a very personal hell,
which we have warped and twisted
until it became a heaven far more vast
than the one we were always promised.

We are giants in our own back-yard,
where the grass stalks
stand like oak trees
of a bygone age,
and we tower over them,
forever unsurprised.

We sit here as we always have,
the most serene of malcontents,
Reveling in what makes us miserable
and knowing that nothing hurts
more than what we love.