Hostile Take Over Of Self

This is not a gentle return to self. This is a coup.
The smiling diplomat and armored performer who signed every yes with his own blood has been removed by fire. No negotiation. Only burning.
Masks peeled away. False identities torched. Polite lies turned to ash.
What remains is seized cauterized and finally mine.
These poems are the records from the takeover. The first words spoken in a voice that belongs only to me.
This is what happens when you stop asking permission and simply take yourself back.