You imbibe my animation.
Spiritually drained and characteristically humiliated, I'm blank.
Blank, for you to paint your legacy on my face, my bones and my creativity.
Imbue me with your knowledge as I am clearly aimless within this bubble submerged in your pride.
Pride. Delight and honour of another? Or self-love?
A manic self-obsession and exaggerated belief in your importance and capability.
But you already knew that.
You inhabit a house of mirrors where phantasms cross every wall.
I've got your diagnosis.
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