It Wasn't Me Anymore (#1)

The first of at least different poems about different kinds of self-cide, the giving up of one's inner self

The music of memory is dissonant

I'm fading into nothing

I survived the collision

With barely any of myself left

It cannot be agreed or compromised -

Logic is my lost institution

The explosion of inspiration is intense

I'm losing all control of this

I rose up from the wreckage

And half of me was now him

Without knowing how I lost my way -

I wasn't me anymore

The gift of love is sweet

There's no reason to resist this

I was unaware the price I paid

Now it's all if but forgotten

What have I done? - 

I am violated, but say nothing

...

The inner self is precious

I should have kept it close to me

Can a ghost have regrets? 

Oh, I don't know... 

I'all have to ask him.

Author's Note

See through the metraphors if you wish to truly understand the meaning of this.