who gives a f*ck about me? really? therein lies the problem, because chief amongst all, i give a f*ck about me. drowning in narcissistic self-infatuation made of smoke and mirrors. i dont even see myself anymore, not as i used to, not as i am. a self indulgent mirage of all i dream i can be - too good for most of you. the longer we're without the love of another, the more we fill that void with own love of ourselves. more and more each day, that you aren't good enough for me anymore. or so the coward would have me believe. risk nothing. the grotesque image too beautiful for anyone that would have me. no, i chase after apparitions, the progeny of the gods, heirs to beauty that can only be bought. such are the cravings i wake every night to and long for. its all bullshit. a fusion of styles, none of them me, all well worked lies such that only when you remove the colours, the pastels, the oil, when you have nothing but a blank canvas can you truly see how f*cking plain i am. but even then, i see mastery and artistry in an empty page, and duly credit myself. f*ck the truth, its only a relative perspective anyway. worthless to my ego. like the theologians that pick and choose sciences that serve them alone.

its so long since i stopped looking at myself that i don't even know what beauty is anymore. i would never have those that would love me, none are as beautiful as i. turning my back on all opportunities to actually feel anything without my initials inscribed on it. insecurity bleeding into narcissistic love, and as the blood runs dry, begins the self loathing.