Small Sad King

Salty tasty warm tears How can this be? I am a king. Kings don’t cry. Rejected, dejected, lost in the bowels of an ungrateful forest I stir my sad feelings so hard they become angry feelings I can deal with them now. Where is the king? Someone asks. This infuriates me; I am incognito, so I hide behind the hill. The hill laughs, further antagonizing me. I am furious now! I saw a guy crying, someone says. That can’t be a king, another argues. I stay hidden, getting smaller and smaller, until I disappear, glad to escape these inane inept subjects.