Narcissist, narcissist,
you're a fiend for yourself.
Take another picture,
there's still room on the shelf.

Smile at the camera
while you scoff at the people,
you hedonistic *******,
you're a snake 'neath a steeple.

"Mirror, mirror, on the wall,
won't you lie to me again?
Tell me what I want to hear,
or I'll kick my own face in."

So, strut your stuff,
you golden turkey,
you untouched gem
with a soul so murky.

"She’s smooth as water” says the pencil and the marker she traced with.
“She’s careful” says the hand that colored the blurry image.
“She’s really messy” says the multicolored stained fingerprints of multiple chalks.
“She loves to paint” says the neatly stacked by size oil paint brushes.
“Soft as snow” says the handle as it glides by the gentle breeze.
“She’s gentle” says the wet oil sliding down the paper in light streaks.
“Once I dry,” says the wet product “she will scrape and scratch my impurities.”
“A fingerprint found in a ******” identifies the scraper carving the circular parts.

“She’s gone in the wind” reminisces the finished product, the pencil and the marker, and the scraper. “We’ve been replaced.”
“She got a new best friend” says the new pen.
“It’s for the best” reassures the lined paper.

“It was a phase” mocks the keyboard and the monitor together.
“I love you” confesses the binded book full of poems, essays, and short stories.
“We feel so used and abandoned” whimpers the art, the pen and paper and the keyboard with the monitor.

“I’m sorry” apologizes the hand that wrote and painted for years.  “I never meant to hurt you”

If only for tonight,
We'll kiss like lovers.
If only for tonight,
Meet me under the covers.

A kiss full of lustful love.
Lighting fire within my depths.
Like the sun from above.
A kiss with demanding eyes.
Pressing up against you.
From between your thighs.

If it's only for tonight.
Don't be fooled by these eyes.
Passionate more than you can handle.
The next kiss could be your demise.

If you want me for tonight.
Hold me like I'll never leave.
Nail marks down my back.
Together we'll both believe.

That this wasn't one crude mishap.
But a twist of fate.
Preposterously perfect perhaps...
Just for tonight.