A Mask of Self-Destruction

He wore the veil of confidence and sophistication,

sheathed in vine of obligations and rules.

Wherever he went, success opened its wide arms.

Not asking for a repeat, he dived straight in.

Everyone looked at him with admiration.

Everyone envied him and wanted to be like him.

He climbed the ladder, focused and intent.

Specialised in one subject: regret.

Regretting that he will never find out

what it felt like

to be on the losing side.

He won the game and then collapsed

weighed down by his own arms.

He grabbed too much, too fast;

burning his heart out.

No pause, just a relentless trek toward the horizon.

He had nothing left to lose

so he drowned his sorrows in cheap wine

hoping for a release, a fresh start.

But there was no hope, only a perpetual dark mood.

His crumbling marriage fuelled negative self-talk.

He could not face another root canal to fix.

Overridden by the old rules of his old man ,

who asked more of others than of himself.

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