The mark of a blistering agony,
a period when I was tangled and burdened.
Replaced enthusiasm to a wound,
harbored shoddy sentiments privately,
and fed myself with food of irrelevance.
I was choked in my own indifference.
My pretension was not condoned.
I earned weapons to kill but I was
executed in my enemies’ contemplation.
The victor that I was not, I became a villain.
A wayward man, that was an image in realization.
Steadily busted my own reflection in the mirror.
I vacated who I was before, departed my
ordeal, and transfigured.