History of My Haunting

I am a man of isolation.
My mind is at war with chaos; my heart is heavier than stone.
I live only to define the meaning of my own span of time,
becoming, day by day, an expert in escaping reality.
Here is the history of my haunting:
A man once loved a flower.
He tended it, watered it, gave it his faith.
But the flower took flight, burning him into ash as it left.
In the wreckage, the man learned to hate himself,
dismantling his soul until he was incapable of loving another—
even if a thousand more bloomed in his path.
An angel came to sweep away the trauma,
trying to remind him of the man he once was.
But the devil he grew inside whispered
A different truth: Love is a lie.
So, he did the only thing he knew- he destroyed the peace and ran.
I am still a man of kindness.
I can bear the risk of rejection.
I can handle the blade in my heart.
But I will not allow a single soul to be destroyed
By the devil I’ve become.
To hurt another is a slow, painful death to me.
My mind remains a storm of chaos,
blind to the future, numb to the consequence.
I am the devil of my own soul,
though it was pure once.
Gratitude to the woman who helped me see the truth,
and hell to the one who taught me how to burn.