There is a part of me I cannot control.
An ill wind that chills my words and twists my actions. A shadow that haunts my steps and darkens my thoughts.
It is as a beast; a feral hungering shape trapped with me in the wrought iron cage of my mind.

Ego is equal parts malice and temptation.
She is as hot as fire and cold as ice. Sometimes, I can't tell her apart from the one I love.
It subjects me to pain and pleasure indivisible, like demons of limbo; The only function is misdirection.
What greater fear is there than that of self? It is a constant vigil for the seen and the unseen.
Even when it strikes, who can tell where fault lies? It is a trial where the defence is the prosecution, the judge and the executioner.
I cannot even begin to ask; "Who am I?" without first acknowledging who I am not.

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