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Stifled with a sense of shame
I’m fighting My battles with Myself
Perceived pain is pain
Crumbling slowly
My mind and my body
My ego, my sense of self
Is being rewritten
Bitten by the special bug
A tug of war buried deep within
Accepted and not, somewhere in between
Seen and unseen, in plain sight and in shadows
Wasted moments, sacred omens
The devils fist and gods hammer
In the end it all feels the same
You go back to from which You came
Nothing remains
Not even the Hall of Fame
I taste the sweet dust of shame
When I exhale
All that’s left in the game
Of life, ripe to swallow the hype
Of My own name
Then I’m left thinking
Am I already made?
Weighing the options of My memory trail
Not to cave, nay
I’m ready to give acclaim
Am I man enough to receive the same?
With rawness,
Ian Altosaar
