Bad Medicine.

That man makes me squirm.
Because he is everything I want to be.
I don’t know him,
or me.

That girl makes my stomach churn.
Because I wish she could see me,
but she only sees him.
I don’t know them.

It’s not just everything.
It’s everything that I don’t have.
That I can’t do.
It’s never having a clue about you.

This envy I disguise as scorn.
A pretense built on intent.

A black hole,
sucking in fools fed fantasies,
born of needing,
bereft of meaning.

Those that I fear,
and those that I need,
and those that I wish to be.

Suffer the injection of my own reflection.
My own greed given back to me.
My own face staring back at me.
The mirror that I choose not to see.

It will shatter when I do.
I beg it comes soon.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *