"Know your angles and get that lighting"

Mantra repeated with eyes glued to phone

The selfie king wears his crown proudly and scoffs at the peasants who copy

Holding their cameras at impossible angles

But with a small smile he gloats-

For they can never be like him. 

He simply knows what they can never-

the unatainable information:

the formation of beauty.

A quick photo here and there

To placate himself

And the others who adore him

But it won't quiet anyone for long.

He needs more, and so do they-

lusting after his perfection,

Their affection growing evermore.

It seems the more he clicks away at the camera

the more they are drawn to him like moths to a flame

that never quivers in the wind...

perhaps he is the biggest fan of all;

a beautiful and harsh truth.