Untitled (An Analysis of Me)

for the old me...

As innocent as I may have been,

I grew to be cold-hearted.

Not caring for the lesser folk

While taking what was never mine

And sharing it among the friends

That had the same intentions

 

To always make an effort

To destroy the weak and ones

Who placed us on a pedestal

Too high for egos

As large as mine.

I learned to hate.

 

I begged to know what life

As a hungry wolf would be like.

Being able to rip apart

The fragile lives of those

Who dare to contest

The number one contender

Of pranks, rumours and sin.

 

I do not know love

Nor forms of guilt therein

And never wish to repeat them

Or regret my handiwork.

It takes a lot to be someone

Who does not care,

And bares a face of no remorse.

 

Empty as my heart may be,

Lengthy as my list of sins,

Guiltless as my conscience is,

I know what you all say.

And, undoubtedly, I believe

 

That my doings will not suffer

But what will really burn in hell

Are the skin and bones

Of my very own body

And my own rotted soul.