The last remnants of my former self have peeled away,
like many flakes of old paint left to the scorn of the elements.
And I have become most of the things I was taught to dispise,
burning my principles like you burn a ciggerrete, each drag bringing a conclusion.
Ah yes but time is its own wrecking ball, tearing down the strongest of berricades,
leaving even the durable dreams in ruins.
So I lash out at all, like a dog who knows othing more then the chain,
waiting for one moment or chance to unleash the torrent of rage that has built.
and wisdom has been beaten down by grief,
the grief of losing somebody so important that you are left with a hollow spot.
I have become cold, I paint my face in makeup to hide in plain site,
embracing the darkness as I hide from the light.