Echo and Narcissus

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.


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