The world revolves around me
i know it doesn't
but why should i believe otherwise?

i live only through what i experience
and i see only what is in front of me
selfless grace always crumples apart  
brazen topography outlines my figure
crimson grapes wilt underneath the sun
as my fingertips wrinkle beneath this surface,
a still water untouched by frictionless power
ruined by the toss of a rugged stone

i have the power to do as i please
yet i am looked down upon for my freedom,
deemed a narcissist at the will of those unrelenting,
too pompous to conceptualize their own reflection
smugly glaring back from the cracked, stained glass.