Like a beaten up dog loved but no more. Scarred by the beating stick of reality, over and over, time and time. Loved one’s gone, the remorse of mistakes, misdeeds absorbed, the fake facade of a personality thought understood.

One only needs to look into the mirror to see the ghosts of friendships destroyed. The reflection, called the wise, changing with time, thoughts once held misjudged pure, gold-plated they turned out to be.

Learnt from those admired and climbed to the top, their stories so glorious, not seen, the mountain of souls crushed for their goals. This, without denial, is not for me I say, like an obese person enjoying food he knows he should not.

No one Infallible, seen through my own eyes, intentions gone array, the ego, like hunger I felt, purposeful, to provide for the self. Seen, detested, unfairly in others when just as potent but obscure, looking at my reflection.

To accept and understand, to control the anger of injustice, is the hardest. Sympathy and reflection a better approach for no one is immune. Desperate people will do desperate things and they must be forgiven.