incomplete circle | narcissist-artist
04/07/2022
it’s truly in pride we fucking trust: both of us. I don’t need to make a fucking blog; all I need
to free my psyche is a lapel mic; resilient vocal
chords to air sordid untruths you regurgitated.
it’s in truly in pride within which we run circles. ]1
I really hope you heal from your narcissist roots;
it’s not me you seek to make your narrative’s demon.
it’s 50% of your very own DNA strand you hate—
along with your very finitely miserable existence.
it’s ironic you’re interested in social work. or is it:
social work is interested in you and you are flailing?
I would pity the fool who sat down as your client.
clearly, you’re lost on your foundation of sense & self.
I hope you find people who hate togetherness;
community; harmony; the whole of the LGBT;
capitalism and the American healthcare and political
frameworks as much as you hate the skin you’re in.
I hope you find people to sulk and sulk in their poison;
dip crisp pieces of ciabatta bread in their own scum
just like you do. you deserve that kind of solidarity—
and nothing more of grace or substance.
you’re one of those people who cough up blood
and water; choke yourself with your own tonsils.
you’re swimming in thousands of feet of water
and drowning in your discord daily.
and to think: I pitied you; extended my hand
simply to join in the drowning that was you.
to think I thought that’s what unconditional love
meant. to think I would extend niceties and forgiveness
to somehow who only knows a shadow of themselves;
send help to an unresponsive, frozen phone line.
to think I would give my last breath as a lifeline
to somehow who chokes themselves with rhetorical
paradoxes and insecurities; misplaced epithets of
admiration conflated with outrageous intimidation.
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