Narcissus

I wonder into how many mirrors I will glance on my to hell. This vain and vile image. We made him together. Their expectations and my vanity. Their agitation and my insecurity. This peripheral paranoia, checked only by the silent staring into an image. I wish he would show himself, that coward. He uses flattery and percentile quadrants to entice me to his sodomy. He and I, bedfellows of rebellious arrogance. And though miserable, I company, lots and lots of companies. I wonder into how many mirrors I will pass on my way to hell. A shroud of glass might end it, but I wouldn't give them the satisfaction. Them my enemy and me their obsequious jester. This vain and vile image. We made him together. Their expectations and my vanity. My machinations and their will for sunshade from the truth of what we are. We made him together, and laughing he awaits our arrival.