Funeral Rites.

Catastrophic calamity caused by careless oversight, you are the dimmest firefly in a field of fluorescent lights. Your pubescent arrogance led you to naively believe you were not out of your league, my fortress remained upright despite your sadly-executed siege. I could outsmart you at this game you attempt to play even if I was asleep, prepare to suffer your greatest loss, because I only play for keeps. You lit the candle at both ends then foolishly feigned ignorance, brace yourself as I attack you from every angle in defence. Not fooling anyone by claiming intellect, you simply regurgitated talking points to seem like you were smart—but now you are my sole target. Bullseye every time when I pierce your heart with every dart, you may think you're safe but death is imminent for I am equipped to end this war you wrongly chose to start. Silver bullets shot at you from afar, you should've begged for mercy instead of proudly pretending that you were a star. Grim is your future, bleak your past, watch as I rewrite your fate, bet you're wishing you hadn't asked for a second helping before finishing what was already on your plate. I'll poke and prod at you with my pitchfork until you're pleading for mercy, give you a single drop of water when you're desperately thirsty. You should've picked your battles but now you're six feet underground, just like your predecessors, you were silenced before you could ever make a sound.