Ok.
Real talk now.
I've totally been thinking,
for way too long.
How the sorrow of my life,
has had me becoming
the demon that I learned of
while I was a child.
Redo the birth scene.
Cut.
Action.
I cut off my last hair doo with a razor.
Then the Taser of said fictions
divide my molecular compositions
into fractions of myself.

And that’s exactly the person I don’t believe.
Myself.
Me.
I.

Define that one for me again Mr. Fromm,
the nature of man,
me,
the man who acts so honestly.

The hero,
or the villain.
I don’t ******* care.
But I'll bare the scab
for all my wounds.
And each time I fall,
I pick my fractions back up
and redevise.