Am I narcissist incarnate?

Am I a simple messenger?

Am I blind to the beauties before me,

Captive, wild, all alive around and sounding

Their respective nature to the breed of their 

True being? Am I asleep in this mess of life?

I do not really know. I hear the lull, the beat,

And refinement of guarded tethers,

And if I see it that way then maybe I am

A narcissist. May Heaven breathe rhythm down upon this broken man.

I think I love being lost more than found.

Christ, it’s too personal. I don’t think about fellowship. Don’t think that I made this bad bed, and sleep is an illusion,

The conquered conquest of bested intentions.

Passion, immersive reaction, distracting 

From enacting scenes of gleaning meaning 

Demanding belief in something more than brief.

I know there’s a better version dormant and docile,

Waiting for a prey of moment to venture on.

I hear the pounding instinct persistent.

Make it resolute. Make me real again.

Make me give up all I know for the wanton 

Ache I long to feel.

Make it real.