I am so sure that out there,

many do dream to be as fair

as me, as handsome as me,

but I am afraid to say that

such aspirations could never be.



(And when this empty

façade falls from my

face, peeled away as

dead skin from a wound,

I am me.)



And as you doubtlessly know,

I am the high, and you the low;

but despite your existence

in the dark shadow of my life,

you are still a step above a dunce:



of course you could never be

quite as smart as I, for you see,

such a great person does dwell

in cerebral lands far above

the austere home of your average Hell.



(The Heaven of life,

of  wits and knowledge,

is as far from my

reach as the apple

was from the serpent:

could you be my Eve,

can I live through you?

I pretend to be

greater, but alas,

I am not.)



Perhaps, in time, you could be

a fraction of that which makes me.

(Do you not see through

my meaningless boasts?)

But even one as mellow

as I may hold a secret, and

despite myself, I dread you to know,

(this is not me.)