A destroyed past changes you.
It rewrites your voice,
steals the trust from your hands,
makes you forget the warmth of a friend.
Lonely.
Terrified.
A man’s best friend—gone.
A man’s best self—slipping.
The devil knocks.
And for a moment, I consider letting him in.
Help this soul out.
Because the mirrors,
they don’t show a mogul anymore.
Only an endless waterfall
that refuses to dry.
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