Narcissus Loves Persephone, Self.

I wrote a myth about a girl forever scratching
at her crepe-paper bonds, no flight and no freedom
don't think she heard about it,
and if she did, she never breathed a word about it
let me shout it to the gods.

I'm left with crimson and white,
these blizzards blitzed sin city
since she sat and sniffed shit with me
littered me with kisses out of pity, tipsy on her wisdom,
addiction to the way her chesnut tresses
tumbled on the shoulders of her dresses, a message
to never expect any real connection from a letter.
She almost smiled when she first described purgatory
Thought it was the lesser of two hells before I'd heard her story

So what's a drug addiction,
but a lovers warmth for those who've never really felt affection?
For those who meet embraces with distaste like an affliction?
Hell is other people - at the bar while getting drinks in
Hell is scraping traces of cocaine dust from a mirror
Hell is yellow liquid building up around a liver
I am Narcissus, raised from the lake, to come de-liver you
Sephie, I'll save you for me, so I can feel complete

The snow will cover me,
I am not a lover, neither meant to have another love me
I will sit and write while others live their lives around me
I will leave these words, they will not leave flowers

The curse of an eternity is hers - she doesn't flinch
Apparently, the manacles and shackles on her ankles
are all manageable damage, atlas has a package
for you love, it's called the earth, you could run it with those curves
You could crush it with a symphony of whispers,
this city's sillouette it isn't shit against your figure - you're magnificent,
but isn't it a pity that this myth is still in motion
when I only want to finish it and close it
I guess that makes the both of us,
I guess that that's the closest
that we'll ever come to seeing eye to eye in this hypnosis
she's an old soul, I'm an old joke
she reincarnates, I just get retold
I start to shiver as she swivels and she sneers as she delivers it with pity,
she says "Kid, you've never been cold"
You've never known life on borrowed time
I've ever stopped regretting the second I let her borrow mine

So this is it in ink,
I couldn't stand the man I am,
so writ myself a myth
There is snow up on the cistern
and we sniff it with precision
my obituaries written
in piss dripped in the blizzard.