A stray poem…
Echo and Narcissus
Echo was hell-bent on necking Narcissus,
But he spent every decko on watching himself;
‘I don’t want your kisses!’ he cried. She called, ‘Kisses!’
Both seemed predestined to stay on the shelf:
She’d been condemned to repeat final phrases;
He gave a pool his importunate gazes.
Miffed that he couldn’t embrace his own beauty,
Narcissus decided to sharpen a knife.
The heck with this Echo, the parroting cutie!
His own alter ego would love him for life
If he ended it all. Stab! No chest-thrust was finer.
Echo reprised his last words like a mynah.
Suicidal self-love is a desperate choice,
But Narcissus’s passion’s the kind to devour.
Sad Echo’s now merely an answering voice,
Though Narcissus’ blood grew a memorable flower.
It’s perfect for frostbite if turned to a balm,
But a piss-poor reward for obsessive self-harm.