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Permit My Insanity (Echoes of Narcissism).

Watch, recognize
this fight
as a world war
between me
and my empathy.

All these storms,
roller-coasters
that I do not mean to be…
please excuse them.

Perhaps it is just my arrogance,
after all: my selfish, fixated,
echoes of narcissism.

Could it be? Fuck.
Do you still like me?
Would you still want me?
Me? Far too damn
perpetually
fucked up to tell.

Such a selfish
little shit, this I know.
Try living
as this fool.

Sometimes I
want, blazing
white hot,

though know all
too well, so cannot
in good conscience
move forward

without considering
the fallout…
After all: consider
that patterns recur.

Al my hungry ghosts,
poltergeists, menacing
spirits, veterans possessing
agents with whom
I have such a rich
goddamn history
with: suppose
that they all returned

to find a feast
prepared
in their absence.

Misleading departure,
unintended welcoming…

Yeah, I feel
it, casket sealed,
burial complete,
eulogy spoken,
epitaph chiseled
in stone

and, oops:

turns out
t’was a mere vacation
of the dead-
though-(clearly)-far
from gone,

just another element
in my bursting
cornucopia of absurd.

If I would,
could you let
me, let go,
embrace,
permit my insanity

as we both chug
and burn?

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