My Egoistic Eyes Are Loud

Let this moment stain my life, its streaking reach vying for impermanence. When the memories sorrowfully creak, each solemnly bearing its own weight, all at once I cannot ask of them any more and cannot leave an unsculpted mass begging for perfection. It cannot see the beauty of itself now, my egoistic eyes presume, and I long to hold the whole when the one is full itself.