Loyalty, the flying insignia of those with Nobility at heart— at least before it was shot down from the sky in a winged assault Now look at them a souvenir for huntsmen they once revered with all their all, displayed in a museum under the title: Who was my beloved hound in my game of chess? Loyalty is for those who choose the chain, mistaking it for bloodties The ownership of my loyalty is neither the ones who wield a minefield of chivalry to smooth ragged mountains into fine steps for them to ascend and transcend and call themselves Alexander’s reincarnate, nor the old money thrilled at rounding up collections as they terrorize anything with two feet for daring to trespass their territory and call them befitting the Siberia’s palace No— I owe loyalty to no one. My allegiance stands with myself. By myself, I shall stand against every adversary without pretense. I shall be someone’s Frankenstein Their mouths agape will screw shut with bemusement — smiles turning to frowns, scowls bleating into fury, at how I choose the sweet comfort of grey over austere white or sully black They wanted a side. Grey omitted. I refused the role they wrote for me I was sacked as swiftly as I was chosen, but not before I blew fuses in their meticulous plans of ambition I shall meet my karma. They curse me. Little do they know… I have already met him— an endless list of doppelgängers So who is to say I haven’t learned my lesson?