Granted its in soulless fayre
the occupational narcissist professes
disambiguation
siphoning misinformation into disinformation
our perverse alchemist declares his truths
his restless agenda has consumed
his essence fanning his psychosis
the internal war takes no prisoner
his  presence and continuous struggles are a relief
blatant signs he craves his narcissistic fixes
we know the psychology
the damaged miscreant
with the octane cravings
to regurgitate his pressing unhappiness
and bring them to another
for that's how he feeds
he is at war with himself
un-centred and core-less
in the lies of his truths
the scalped miscreant snarls in pain for attention
his presence means relief is far far away
and victory can never be his
and it hurts and he lives hurts all the time
the incomplete man  
that's the sad truth