This poem is doomed to be lost,

forgotten, burned, ripped, or scratched,

abandoned in ruins, a cost

from the Library of Alexandria.

Among poems and texts unmatched,

read by monsters Acardia

detached then attached

and never to be caught.

The painter and the idea

and the trait against he fought,

fraught with sleep apnea.

Himself to confide.

Thousands of stories left to rot,

their owners long since dead.

The collection-like blood clot

and the Ouroboros ring.

The monsters deride

anything and everything.

No story survives.