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