I shine the surfaces in my house, like glassen mirrors they project a perfect image of me. The glass that shows the reflection of me in the scenery of it all, reminding me how much better the scenery would be with me in it. As I look upon the field of narcissus that I pass day by day, I can only think how my own beauty enamors me. The only way I wish to die is to drown glamorously in my own reflection, to have myself sink in my lungs and eventually my veins, to have my beauty stuffed down my throat. And because of that, I anger people, people seem to be angry at me when I admit I'm drop dead gorgeous, when I say I'm intelligent, when I say I'm talented. But who would do that for me? Who, would say I'm beautiful, who would say I'm intelligent? Would it be the crowd, in their public glory, who should put me on trial and decide my fate, hanged or imprisoned? Or would I council myself, to control the government of my mind. To understand the beauty of my mind and body, temporary as it is. And if you saw the love I had for myself, you would ask when I would be married. And i'd say I've always been married, married to the person I care the most for. Sometimes realizing, that I may never find love as there would be no one who I'd love as much as myself. The self I see in the mirror, the self I clearly see in the simple reflections of the windows, the person I see in everything beautiful. I see my eyes in the honey I add to my tea, I see my intelligence in my bookshelf, I see my impressiveness when I see the scars scattered across my body. I see my story in the narcissus flower, who loved himself too much, and I will succumb to the same fate.
