I have done it again.
One hour in every ten.
I haunt myself---

I am who I have always been.
Pale skin and bone
Heavy feet, sunken throne.

Cursed crown;
A dream to meet
A nightmare to know.

Self-flagellation
Is an art, like everything else.  
I do it more than well.

I do it because I have to.
I do it so you do not.
Maybe I am a prisoner

Of my own mind.
Fine.
Let me be mine.

I am out of this world---
I do not expect you to understand.
The mutilation

Of the self.
Of the mind.
Of the body.

It is not kind.
It is not sweet.
It is not lovely.

But even when I unshackle my chains
You must know
It still haunts me.