Creative destruction is her specialty
Physical, mental, moral
I survive, but not as me
Am I and who
And when will this person slip away?
Will it be a blaze of thunder and glycerin,
A hooded decapitation
Or a slow rot on an everyman cot
Only such a small nick from her shrapnel
Bled away my spirit's virtue
Where was I hit?
I am resolved
Not to even learn my name this time
For it is, but a focus for her rage
And a mortal score for her to keep