Of all the things I’d thought I’d be,
this was never one.
A bitter, lonely, husk of a man
completely spent and done.
Unable to see, hear or speak,
my body failing me.
But what pains me more are the changes in
my own personality.
Is it not enough that I suffer
for all the sins I’ve done?
Must I also suffer the misery
of hurting everyone?
I don’t know what I hate more —
the monster I’ve become,
or everyone else for letting me live so long
till I’m nothing but rotten scum.