I was gone for a long time now,
stuck in a hole.
It was all pitch dark,
seeping unknown evil.
But I crawled back home,
under the flooding smoke.
I destroyed the creatures,
though my lightsaber broke.
Holding tight to it's handle.
In my hand,
the smell of iron,
may last forever.
And the pictures
that led crispy burnt bits to fall here,
were burned in the fire,
of my will,
strength;
desire.
I am not who I was,
but I am fresh.
like new car,
and my brain has been washed.
It's not bad.
It's better.
I'm glad,
and I will never
ever
fall
so deep
again.
I will never
ever
walk away
in the end.