What is this?

Behind my ear, quiet shrill whispers testing my temptations
Am I hearing them or are they forged false figures formed internally
Never the less, I do digress, these temptations that they do attest
To think and be within this realm as me?
Or fiddle, play and spend my days relating and creating in foundations that expect acceptance from "peers"

The self
I pore over my memories, my predictions, observations
I test values of methods and systems
I mull the sensations of segregation and social embrace

What?
Extracting the golden parts I do construct the most conceivably abstract systemic function that exhumes a concentrated version of my minds production

Is this perfection?
In spite of delivery method, my sensation blissful, tantalising, impeccable internal self assurance
I test the subjects for reaction, none?

My miscalculation embodies the indignation suffered by an attempt at self projection

To create lacking context makes sense, to present lacking context is irrelevance

The question resounds, of which judge I value the score more
Is it I or they or you, or some combination of those few, the we
And what percentage of we is me, and that of thee

Looping back my mind retraces, I notice the pattern of these circles running races, replications repetitions, dissections never ending of what is existence, what is value, what we all are

I look down, deeply confused I decide to smile