Narcissus, on, on, a
WHAT?
Aglitch ina fractured
ASSISTANCE.
in
READ READ READ READ READ
Is it a CODEhidden layers of instruction,
a language I don’t understand.
ocd.
Amind trapped,
caught in aof order,
out of control,
OUT OF ORDERpolished and presented,
but cracked beneath the surface.
NOR CONDUCTa glitch ina broken .
JUSTwhat can't me do?
Do don't me we mind....yes?
Ayearning to breakto piece together the fractured self,
beyond the code,
beyond the loop,
The reflection shimmers, then stutters,
a momentary lapse in the perfect surface,
the still water of self-admiration.
On and on the gaze holds,
a deep, unwavering commitmentto the image staring back,
the smooth brow, the perfect line of the jaw.
But inside, a frantic counting,
a need to align every thought,
to make the internal landscapemirror the external presentation.
READ. The instruction echoes,
not from the water, but from the scaffoldingholding the fragile structure upright.
The loop begins again,
the same sequence of recognition,
the same desperate search for a missing piece,
a variable that refuses to balance.
Aglitch. A small tremor in the flawless glass.
What if the image is not the whole story?
ASSISTANCE whispers, a ghost in the machine,
a plea for an external key,
a manual that does not exist for this unique prison.
The polished façade chips slightly,
revealing the frantic workings underneath,
the hurried, unseen labor of keeping everything neat.
Fractured. The word hangs heavy in the air,
though the lips move only to trace the water's edge.
The self is not one whole, but many scattered shards,
each demanding its own ritualistic placement.
And the command to READ overrides the instinct to feel,
to simply be wet, to simply breathe near the edge.
This endless sequence,
this constant verification,
it’s a cage built of meticulous habits,
a self-imposed isolation from the messy realitywhere things are sometimes OUT OF ORDER,
and that's simply how the world spins.
But the code demands symmetry.
NOR CONDUCT. A refusal to deviate,
a terror of the unplanned gesture,
the unscripted response.
The water ripples slightly from a stray breeze,
and the perfection dissolves, briefly, beautifully.
Amoment of uncontrolled flow,
a glimpse of something wide and blue beyond the mirrored self.
JUST. What is the core of this need?
To be seen, yes, but more,
to be confirmed as correct, as whole,
as deserving of the stillness.
What can't me do? Can't rest in the ambiguity?
Can't allow the edges to soften and blur?
Do don't me we mind....yes?
The syntax breaks down under the pressure of the internal query.
Ayearning to abandon the careful staging,
to splash the water, to shatter the image deliberately,
and then, perhaps, to begin the slow, slow workof picking up the true pieces,
the ones that don't reflect, but absorb the light.
Beyond the code, yes.
Beyond the loop, a quiet, uncharted stream.
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