The flame burns within and without,
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The scars form writhes within living flesh,
The burn sears the name from my mind.
I hear you reply with a broken mirror voice
That my tragedy is my own misplaced ambition,
And my only wealth is aimless frustration.
I watch you with a decade long stare,
I revere my hero with subtle distaste,
The masochistic worship empty with blindness.
Oh Christ, your savior, has proven remote.
YHVH is a delinquent father, a savage reminder
That you could not be worthy of better company.
Friendship to you is an empty excuse
To burn, scar, and eventually abandon.
An opponent bereft of form: any name will do.
I could not save you, but took sick comfort
In watching you destroy yourself.
I abhor your friendship, and despise your influence.
To become a martyr of your own misery
Within my dirty remembrance of you
Is exactly what you would desire.
I know your secrets, pitiful to the trained eye:
You attack with a question, which has no answer,
And sneer at the jointly fallen opponent.
My dear mentor, you have no answers of your own,
Only quick, medicated explanations,
Which leaves your bitter soul beneath.
Only with a strange reminiscence do I look back,
And spit on the blackened earth which remains
For you are more than a memory, and less than a man.
"Perfection of self is the highest philosophy, one which most will never aspire to, nor admit to if they had." -Anon.