Ego

Poor baby, you're waking; while this lady sits faking
sweet emotions in your direction, your reflection is grating
like the shrill sound of drilling, but still never filling emptiness
how silly is your willingness to toss aside fulfilling bliss
under the muse of some loose fuse that catches accidentally
and reduces you to a more useless you, incidentally
the words that you speak are curiously weak and seem
to lose their mystique once I realize how paralyzed
you've become. And i feel dumb. Bt no longe numb
and unfeeling i've spent my time grieving, then some
and i've let the lies you spoke in tongues, roll off my back
and burn in the sun. Speak in your language, your words
are your false reflection and I hope my inflection of your
deep-seeded deception will take hold and some conception
of your self-fulfilling loneliness, your unwilling parsimonious
attempt at restitution. I hope you're content with soulless destitution,
it was your resolution.