My Dream

I walk into the room expecting to see you, but instead your entourage greets me. I couldn’t have been more wrong about you, and that grows more apparent to me by the minute. If only you would have wanted me to be yours. But, instead you want to be your own. Stuck on yourself, in love with yourself, only thinking of yourself, my life grows wearily boring as I listen to more about you. Maybe you could have loved me, maybe. I tend not to think so though, as you were the only one that looked at you. The mirror, your effervescent personality bubbling over at your very thought of how great you are. I would tend to disagree, but that’s just me. I follow you around the room and wonder what it is that people see in you. Person after person ogles you, anticipating any attention that they can get out of you. Sadly, you walk past, the anguish in their eyes shining brighter than their obvious love for you. The using of people leads to hurt feelings, and hurt feelings lead to plotting and planning, revenge is sweet they say. You didn’t give me my fifteen minutes. All you had to do was have a photo taken with me, but you refused, instead, involving yourself narcissistically in everything you do. Yet you are blind to the outcome festering within those who you have hurt. What is given shall soon be taken.