The sun is but a light bulb,
The grass a carpet to feel.

Mother's embrace a hold,
Father's call is the bubble's steel.

I get no satisfaction from the dark flowchart you call home.
Reality has been deemed insufficient to my dreams and hopes.

You are nothing but papers to sign and times to arrive.
However in the flowing rivers of my mind I find the divine.

i see love and light and cringe
at its generic quality, all the same
all beautiful and endearing and encouraging
and i can't help but feel the cynic in me laughing
at the mawkish displays and efforts
and at my own generic skepticism

just one charming quality of my
self deprecating form of narcissism

He lives in a world
Of never and always
Even though there is
No such land.
You could explain
All the facts to him
But he would fail to
Grasp them or understand.

It’s all about opinion
And how he feels
And the way he thinks
About what he sees.
Nothing fazes him
Nothing teaches him
And no hint of reality
Brings him to his knees.

He only cares about
What he wants to have
Or what he wants
To make you believe.
He doesn’t love anyone
He hates almost everyone
He only gets upset
But he never grieves.

He looks into the mirror
And only sees himself
Because in his universe
There is nobody else.
You are just something
That is here to be used.
If he badly wants to do it
He is allowed to abuse.

After all, sun and moon
Revolve, rise and set on him.
In his solar system one star shines
Everything else is very dim.
Since he is rich, and can afford it
He keeps paid companions close.
He can stand free thinkers
Only by the miniature dose.

tell me something
at the end of the summer
how we've spent days
for the warm shadow of jasmine

I'm dumb in common
separated from home
one of the worst romans
in the way of his own

deceit and demise
narcissism and mice
went rumble and bumble
went crimble and crumble

I might be a budding botanist.

You see I watch you take root
in the back of my mind,
while your deepviolet dreams
flower up from behind.
With my withering construct
and green disposition
your ivy league discord
leaves fetid pollution.
my limbs aren't strong enough
to hold you at bay
so I'm prone to let grow on me
whatever you say
these seedlings sap strength
and succor my faults
i could fight back
but what use against this garden gestalt
i am tripping on lilacs
or maybe just lies
and its only a matter of time
till we die
so im keeping my footing
my head above water
and were i a fish
not a lamb to the slaughter
my frame it grows thin
growing gaunt, growing weak
and i cant help but feel
this is what you would seek
then i cant help but feel
i was wrong, and so then
i will try not to go
about feeling again

My life has always been about us.
Not a group us,
But the me in us.
The I, me, mine.
Wear my things, I strike out.
I buy duplicate gifts,
Compliment with vacuous airs of envy.
Invitations are scarce. A dollar a stamp.
Then you appeared
To show me the you
In us.

Everybody told me
You think only of yourself.
There’s no room in your heart
For anybody else.
But just like every fool
Ever born or ever was.
I had to find out for myself
Because, just because.

Lipstick on the mirror
Gave the whole thing away.
I didn’t really understand
Until I woke up that day.
You only love yourself it seems
And I just didn’t see before.
There’s room in your life for you
And no room for one more.

I began to notice how difficult
It was to walk down the boulevard.
You kept looking into the windows
And seemed to be looking hard.
At first what you were looking at
Managed to escape my detection.
After I while I realized the truth.
You were looking at your reflection.

I knew you would not go outside
If your hair was not done quite right.
To try to say it was good enough
Was to encourage another fight.
Every detail of clothing must be
Perfection all the way through
That meant I had to be perfect
As I was an extension of you.

Lipstick on the mirror
Gave the whole thing away.
I didn’t really understand
Until I woke up that day.
You only love yourself it seems
And I just didn’t see before.
There’s room in your life for you
And no room for one more.

Now I look at the photographs
You have kept in a scrapbook.
I see that you have the ones of you
When you like the way you look.
The pictures of me are there
But only if you are also in the shot.
It’s easy to see that you matter
And easier to see I do not.


Lipstick on the mirror
Gave the whole thing away.
I didn’t really understand
Until I woke up that day.
You only love yourself it seems
And I just didn’t see before.
There’s room in your life for you
And no room for one more.

I was waiting to become something bigger than myself
something astronomical; imprinted eternally
in the infinite cosmos; i wanted to be a constellation
I wanted to never have to fade out or burn away
not even in your memories.
selfish, yes. egotistical, probably.
and still, i longed to keep you awake at night,
i yearned for astronomers to gaze and ponder
at the marvellous miracle that was myself
narcissism is eating me away; that unquenchable thirst
to live unending in the spaces between breaths
but in the end, my blood isn't stardust, or fire
when i fall away to bones, to dust, to nothing
it will have simply been red.