The man formerly known as Will Armstrong was many things in his lifetime. lover, father, musician, soldier, fighter, murderer…

I am all that is left of him, the last remaining shred of sanity in an empty husk of a man.

I am the monster who strikes the children of my host for reminding him of ones he killed before.

I am the terror that awakens at the mere sound of a siren; convulsing the body and having him scream out in terror a faces of those killed flash before his eyes.

I am his sanity.

Yes it’s true, your face is quite the train wreck
Your musk drives the molded cheese to envy.
Everywhere you go, people always check
To see the trail of rotting behind thee.

When some person asks, “paper or plastic?”
It is not a question meant for your goods.
For your features are often so drastic
That the public cries out your need for hoods.

Yet a midst the rotting grapes of your eyes
And the corn husk hair on your peeling face,
Lies a certain beauty found deep inside.
It turns all to compost, nourishing grace.

Bananas are sweet, even with dull skin.
Like how your true flavor, is found within.