"We are defined by the choices we make."
How do we truly understand this sentence, then?
Is it the bottom of the beer bottle in which we find it?
Or the passionate afternoon with that red haired stranger?
Maybe perhaps that beautiful pointless death you bloomed within yourself.
In which case you smiled and said, "It's alright."
Maybe the breaking point was when you realised you spent conforming to avoid being branded otherwise.
Self-immolation isn't that much fun.
It began with a heart-burn.
And continued with a tussle for control within.
Til you realised you could no longer pretend you wanted both sides of the cake.
The hunter and prey.
Then you awoke.
And saw that you were no better, no less than the entirety of the roads you took.
Now this is where you made or broke.
A knife to the arm, a rope to the neck, a pill to wash it all away.
A cacophonous tremor rippling across your psyche.
And you realised.
"Do I deserve this future, death, life I've been craving for? Or are we always, sometimes monsters?"