That was once. I never found the source.

It ended at the top
Of a staircase of flames.
Could have been hell.

This poem was inevitable.
Its sentiment is timeless
And its message is cliche.

I write it not for poignyancy
But as a message to myself.
You have been a misguided fool.

From the heir of Rasputin,
To a syringe weilding ape,
You found villains dressed as heroes.

This was the final act
Of your drug fuelled revenge
Upon the world that spat you out.

Upon the world that gave you song,
Upon the world that gave you nature,
Upon the world that gave you love.

Upon the world that gave you laughter,
Upon the world that gave you character,
Upon the world you dreamt of exploring.

Who told you not to enjoy it?
Who condemned you to that which you hate?
Who filled your nose and lungs with drugs?

Who made you sick?
Who made you bleed?
Who made you bring into question, your own mental state.

Surely it wasn't me?
And now you know the truth;
The revelation you craved.

Make your choice.

05/09/2010