Sweet Narcissim

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In stark silence I lay,

Prostrate on a cement road,

Called existence.

I wait on a future that doesn’t show itself.

Lingering in my own abstract reality.

Expecting a universe to bow before me.

As if in all it’s intricate wonder,

It owes me the favor of acknowledgement.

This narcissism boils over,

Dusting me in a coat of profuse pride.

That leaves me wanting so much more.

As if I am worthy,

As if I have earned it.

Indeed, a fantasy of being so primitively important,

Is only a delusion that I carry,

In the recesses of my soul.

It will return to the darkness shortly,

And I will stand back up.

Trodding ever forward,

Duty bound, future focused, unnoticed.

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