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.)