Basic Instinct.

You are an amateur claiming to be on my level,
yet your life reads like a comedy, your looks are equally disheveled.
Trying to ascend, your feeble attempts to social climb are irrelevant,
laughable and unphotographable just like a funny Valentine.
I am expertly skilled at what I do, undefeated even at my worst as you, despite all of your efforts,
are like a balloon filled with more than enough hot air to make you burst.
Unraveling, your seams are slowly but surely coming undone in front of everyone,
 it's clear for even the blind to see that you're not fooling anyone.
Equipped with only basic qualities, you're barely a beginner and yet you still try to compete with the likes of me.
I will always win, victory courses through my veins.
I am comprised of triumph, defeating you will come as easily as any of the trophies I have fairly won. I hold the deed, the title to your properties; the landlord of all that you could even imagine or aspire to be.
Deluded, as you confuse your self-awareness for confidence when even a quick glance from me could send you reeling into an infernal abyss.
I tear down your walls, bring your castles crashing to the ground;
I saw through your facade like it was made of the cheapest quality of fabric.
Should never have doubted me; I could have shown you the ropes and maybe you would also be fantastic.
Hilarity crept in through your front door and now hides within the shadows and corners of your home. Your people pleasing is pitiful, your only motivation was to be validated by strangers;
how can you be so naive that you've been burned by the fire of your artificiality so many times and somehow still fail to detect the danger?
Fickle friends, as fair-weather as can be, fill your company,
and then you somehow wonder how no one is around when you're in need.
I have risen above and you're still in shock on the cold, hard ground;
you sink further into obscurity's deceit, lost and damaged,
I sadly doubt that you will ever be found.