I couldn’t say I’m error-free
And have no own ambition;
An entity inside of me
Would kill for recognition.

It wanders through the halls of fame
And seeks its own reflection,
And longs to hear its chanted name
From every wind direction.

It’s clear it’s just my solitude,
Which can’t abide its station
And swallows psychic comfort food
To ease the situation.

But no amount of mental snacks
Can compensate for what it lacks.

Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

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