I Speak The Language Of Destruction

I can no longer hear the mourning whispers

Of havoc that I once embraced.

In the shadows of memories

Of what could have been.

The stinging pain of paths not taken is one that I will never forget.

In my treachery I find solace and comfort.

It does not require responsibility

Or action for the steps I have elected.

With such vigor and fear I tread deeper into

The nothingness that will surely consume my life.

A poetic irony leads me by the hand.

In such dim light

(Relieve you of my sin and dread what's to come of me.)

It is easy to convince myself

That this life was always that, of which I was destinedm

Brutal, short, and empty

My affliction is, at last glance not the fault

Of tradition, but my own burden.

So with my last goodbye

I ask you not to hate me for what I was, or what I am.

Seek deep in your soul the trust that I will be free.

Forget everything you thought you knew about me.

(The last attempt to redeem myself from bleak revulsion. I see what I must do.)