I Stop


One day




I will stop.


My heart will stop.


My brain will stop


This whirring contraption of ideas


Will stop.


My lungs, too.


My eyes will glaze over


In the horrified realization that it is all true.


One dies.


A furnaced breeze will ruffle


Through yellowed papers


And sepia memories


In the minds of others.


Until they, too,


Will stop.


To love a narcissist is to keep a wave upon the sand, to hold a moonbeam in your hand, the sound of music and your offered heart.


To love a narcissist is to gaze into your abyss, to darkly peer through glass, to refract in the liquid metal of the kaleidoscopic he, to weightless float adrift into his absence - and then be gone.