this whole time, the answer was
written before me, written in blood,
for i have the anti-midas touch,
my hands reduce gold to ashen dust.
i failed at every means and end,
making enemies of my oldest friends,
nulling virtues, increasing sins,
becoming one who most offends.
these the things that i do best,
destruction, chaos, decay, and death,
wasting all by what i’ve kept
with baited breath in a pent-up chest.
here it is, a gift given to me
my trade, my craft is destroying things,
for hire, for leisure, i’ll see that it sinks
the burning world into the ocean’s deep.