what a coward you are,
you say yourself a man yet you can't walk across the room to get your own clothes,
you hardly take care, your disheveled hair you say it's a style,
might i misheard you but i swear it's not it,
you hide behind mum for whenever things get rough,
ah but still you break her heart,
and i am angry,
angry that she lets you break her heart piece upon piece,
shred her money dollar after dollar,
and tear this house brick after brick,
you are a selfish man indeed,
as for once i thought i could count on you and look up as if you are my own hero,
a brother who i could admire,
but no,
as the day you've swung your fist at me,
the day you've dared to hold a knife in front of me-
swearing one day that you'd **** me,
you are not a man,
and you have never been my brother,
you are vile,
i see either death could only change you otherwise.

When you see her,

she is as magnificent as the rest,

however, when you look closer,

closer to her essence,

you can find something beautiful.

Beauty, however, comes at a price,

a price, which not many could,

nor would pay, as they would rather,

have their soul remain sane,

then their mind restrained.

As something such as beauty,

is but a matter of opinion,

yet the very depths of it,

the essence is worth,

this strange endeavour.

She may make you happy,

Might even bring you tears,

despite all of that you were aware,

that she had thought of but one,

and that one was herself alone.

Narcissistic, egotistical, self-absorbed,

all thy words speak but nought of her presence,

as even life itself was aware,

the only one which she cared for,

was none other, but her own.

Maybe there was something you could do,

however, to tame her and change her,

as there was beauty within her somewhere,

yet you were not sure, as your final moments came,

as the narcissistic flower grew closer in your grasp.

Devouring you.