I'm not a fan of who I have become;
   I know, it seems absurd, even to me.
Each day that breaks I feel a bit more numb.
   Since time itself provides no guarantee
and motivation's often hard to find,
   I do not like the man I have become.
Entire empires rise inside my mind
   although I often keep them under thumb
and then distract my brain through other means -
   to chemical addictions I succumb -
allowing me to flit between these scenes,
   disliking the mistake I have become.
They follow me around with haunting glares,
   a-rattling, like snares upon a drum,
and forcing me, reminding me, to pause
   and loathe the person that I have become.
It feels as though my conscience is at war...
but harsher struggles have been won before.