No Succor for The SELF

NO SUCCOR FOR THE SELF

the solicitous self

with and in each exchange

of conversation's

     volley of commiserating

     commissary verbages

words of curbs and gutters

own not its guilt

knows not good will

nor those whom shatter

     in the drowning hours...

The Self is begging

for your idolatry's bastions

wants you to find it beautiful

and superior

     above any other

attention and ingestion

gorging and hoarding

the tid-bit compliments

the cloud nine glances

succulent smile / flirtatious lick of lips

your audience pumping up

its hot air ego-balloon

to beach ball widths

     a deadly kind of perdition

     for you, character fool

careless and distracted

blase' as a toad on a stoop...

It is a weed

the amorous self is

     harmless--the beginning seeds

and whimsy at flowering

in your hands

fluff and puff intimations 

     child-like glee / pleasing / blowing

dandelions nonpluss 

nonthreatening

in ruminations 

N' stuff...

but like any weed

when it spreads and takes hold

     the real estate of your time and soul

it chokes and feeds

off your serene prosperity

of peace of mind

of identity

a thief of your ideas

     makes your dreams its own

It suffocates all others

behaves with dismissive airs

like you it becomes

you, who has watered

    this pest and catered its musings

like sudden sunrise it appears

appealing 

a dandelion - quaint & demure

yet alluring

the prostitute that is the selfish

solicitous thorn

knows its own nature

     far too well 

hides its hideous

so none can warn - it is a war

      with Self

(the attention w***e)

Self being compelled 

as all a parasite to its growth

a virus and its host

what she now only has to give

in return

assuage

for that malingered spell

she breeds in you

     a ghost of once you were

wastrel grime

wasted time

an empty shell

Abhorred.

Careful what the self

is selling

the solicitude 

of obsession / possession 

Suffocation

   not much else...

No succor for the Self.