I never gave interviews There was nothing to say, No one needs to know What I had for breakfast The day I made my mark On an impressionable city.
They don't need my opinion, It would just be another color On their palette, and I can't have that. I don't want to see myself Painted on the homes and faces of strangers.
I have lived to prove my worth, Not to have it affirmed - Mirrors are not worth their reflections. Mirrors can be vacant. I know my selfishness prevails on them Only while I live. I don't mind.
Perhaps when I am gone, They'll look me up. They'll forgive my stinginess When they have me pinned up in a glass case. They will thank Death for transparency, But use my name to save face.
At least I will be spared the sight; That's all I have come to expect. I console myself that it won't quite Be me those empty minds reflect. Imagination travels miles with a breath, For that I thank the generosity in Death.
Written for a prompt. I think The Fountainhead's Howard Roark might have snuck his voice in at the edges.