The enigma.
Perusing on my existance.
Unabashedly mocking every move.
Waiting, berating, consuming,
And gorging, till his selfish fill.
The enigma.
Who listens, with cautious intent.
And crawls incessantly along every corridor.
Smiling wryly, with a contented mind,
But with a foetid innard.
The enigma.
Ephemeral as it may seem
Decidedly seraphic, that porcelain being.
But, a rotten carcass underneath those cracks.
The enigma,
that shameless largesse of hypocrisy.
A serf of imposed moralistic conventions,
Who hides, lies, betrays,
even his brotherly alternate state of mind.
That enigma,
constantly gaining speed, erratic momentum.
As it rolls along the crevices of delusion.
Refusing to heal the wounds,
Even as the caress of the flames,
Stroke the hurt,
And soothes, this great narcissist pretender.
Then I realized.
The enigma.
Is me.
Rant 2:04 AM of Azmie
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