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all yours.
of course he is. why would i be? i'm not real.
i'm not real anymore.
my mind has fallen apart, deep into the depths of my own delusion and grandeur. delusions of grandeur.
i have those delusions of grandeur, but am i really that grand? have i been shot down back to reality by the poachers that are surround me?
the ones that i trust have shot me down. my wings are broken, bloodied and unworking. i can't fly anymore. i can't soar to the skies like icarus once did. they'd melt anyways.
am i narcissus? am i the vessel of a hypocrite? but i am a hypocrite, it would be hypocritical to call those around me such as well.
sorry for all of my rambling. my mind speeds as if it were a bullet train, shooting bullets through the temple that keeps this torture afloat. is my body a temple? if it is, it's been burnt down with the remains flooded with graffiti.
razors, fires, nails, tattoo pens, needles, and my own bones. these are what have ruined my temple. christ is not with me anymore. i'm sorry, god.