Alone, but not in completion.
Starving, but in repletion.
Alive, but in perpetual moribund.
At home, but feeling foreign.

Still, I devise with him
and he with me.
Our hazard seems grim,
but we shall see
when our culmination comes to be.

The evil is he.
Now as I sit
on the precipice of damnation
I take in the examination
of what this counterfeit
looks to be free.

Again, I confine the twinge.
He closes in and I cringe.
Then, the axiom is revealed,
Everything must be concealed.
Despondence, Bliss, Enmity, Albatross.
I must leave it all behind,
or he will be the end of my time.