False Prophet

Don't exaggerate, I'm just something of unique thinker.

As of late, the sea of eyeballs has turned me into a solo drinker.

There is no pain, nor will I feign being in the grips of melancholy.

Both of these suspicions are assigned to me when I rebuke multiplying folly.

Thrill the public once and they will rush to make you their north star.

I'm just a pedestrian, while my least impressive critic is on his fourth car.

None can prove me to be envious, but it is good to know the balance sheets.

My blessings are plenteous; so when they muddy the issue, I just slip on cleats.

The scowls want to know if I really practice what I preach.

To which I frustrate them by saying, "I do ocean where I beach!"

I'll be the boogeyman, just as long as I can claim it as a tax write off.

Scapegoating is a rookie plan, better to regroup and take the night off.

I come in a variety of delicious and marketable flavors.

The appetites are vicious, so free samples go to my closest neighbors.

I have become the medicine that turns into an ugly addiction.

Remember my warmth that filled the early days, but that is never the depiction.

Chew your food long enough so that you do not choke when you swallow.

When you make it big, quickly omit my name, but that is the joke of tomorrow.

For what cause have you sought me with pitch and constant audition.

Your words are read back to me like the curse of a witch or acts of sedition.

If things get any lower, I might have to pony up for a coal drill.

You keep reminding me of how small I am, then why plant your flag on my mole hill?