When did I lose myself?
Would it have been long ago,
when I cave in to an evil emptiness
mistakenly darker than my own?
Or shortly after,
sealing a promising deal
no better than throwing pearls to swines?
Maybe following short,
when I was taking for an identity of my own
that of anyone who allowed my raw fingers
to tight a loose grip on them?
Perhaps soon later, when
stripped of my own will power,
obliviously stuck in a exitless room,
I saw a gleam of hope,
an opportunity to breathe.
And what had been a joke
Became a ghostly commitment,
There only for I to see,
with poisoned chains
under flowers picked
by no one other than me.
Whatever it may be,
I wonder now,
What is possibly left of me?
