"Know your angles and get that lighting"
Mantra repeated with eyes glued to phone
The selfie king wears his crown proudly and scoffs at the peasants who copy
Holding their cameras at impossible angles
But with a small smile he gloats-
For they can never be like him.
He simply knows what they can never-
the unatainable information:
the formation of beauty.
A quick photo here and there
To placate himself
And the others who adore him
But it won't quiet anyone for long.
He needs more, and so do they-
lusting after his perfection,
Their affection growing evermore.
It seems the more he clicks away at the camera
the more they are drawn to him like moths to a flame
that never quivers in the wind...
perhaps he is the biggest fan of all;
a beautiful and harsh truth.