The Narcissist in Love

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The Narcissist in Love

 

Before you I was content in simplicity,

 

content to live in shades of gray,

 

but how you came into my life, and ignited my world.

 

And how beautiful were the flames that then lapped at my flesh.

 

At first, love with you was pure,

 

and Paradise could be found within your arms.

 

But then, our fall began.

 

There was no serpent, no apple,

 

there was simply you

 

and I,

 

and  our love,

 

the garden which would soon be overgrown with weeds.

 

You wanted a Dido to your Aeneas,

 

a sacrifice on a funeral pyre.

 

Or perhaps it was Thisbe that you craved so desperately,

 

a woman so dependant that she dies without your presence,

 

a flower that fades without her sun.

 

And so, desperate for the crimson of your soul and the ocean of your eyes,

 

I allowed myself to be your Juliet, encompassed in a constant state

 

of needing you.

 

Still, it wasn’t enough for you,

 

since Pyramus and Romeo were simple men,

 

and you hungered for more

 

and more

 

and more.

 

You craved a sort of power never to be achieved by those trapped by mortality,

 

instead desiring to be Hades, Zeus, Ares

 

all combined into one truly almighty,

 

and so, you were consumed,

 

not by love, but by a lust for something almighty.

 

But still, I adored you,

 

you were my Adam after all,

 

the first and the only.

 

So for you I built religions on the way my name sounded on your lips,

 

allowed myself to be martyred for the briefest touch of your skin,

 

and made every word you spoke gospel,

 

because darling, your honeyed voice would never preach a lie.

 

How could I do anything

 

anything at all but put you on a pedestal?

 

And on the day that you fell,

 

how could I do anything

 

anything at all, but feel the wrath of fire.

 

You stayed aloft, and instead were content to let me burn.

 

Through the smoke you then hissed at me that you were afraid of heights,

 

that I should’ve known better than to make you into my God,

 

because really, I was no Goddess, no equal.

 

By then you had found a new sacrifice,

 

a Persephone, a Hera, an Aphrodite,

 

somebody worthy of being martyred for you.

 

And so I was left alone,

 

not in contented simplicity as before,

 

but instead praying that perhaps

 

I could find purification in hellfire.

 
This poem is about: 
Me

Comments

alexandrathegreat

A rather personal poem, but I still like it. 

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