Shell Of Me

I watch as they burn their bridges from childhood to the pain of reality.
Though not up to me to mediate anymore, I do stand on the opposite cliff.
My job is complete as I was the one to incite the striking of the match.
Not too soon as I have nothing left offer, nothing left to steal, nothing left to violate, no advice to be heard, no lessons in the agenda and far be it, another match.
While my losses are seemingly always anothers gain, I have no time left to recover what I have lost. Not monetary losses but, heart, soul and whatever lurks beneath the calluses that have done well to suppress what I have found destructive or emotionally distressing. Built over time I do find it unfortunate that I am now actually incapable of empathy or strong emotions, except rage, for only then am I heard.
Existing where recognition of my achievements have gone even more un-noticed than my presence, I realize I probably should have passed just after completing them.
The question of continuance is always the thought that remains after the rest are truncated as that query is always first out.
A splatter of liquid does remain one dimensional except to the ones who assign meaning to the patterns. To them, colors bloom in black and gray and dimension is just a matter of perspective. That was once me, eyes wide open and a heart of the thinnest glass open to be shattered by a single glance.
What has become of that person is a text that will remain unwritten. Although what I have experienced is severe to most, the mold that formed the shell of me would pale in comparison to millions out there who have suffered far worse. The wretched and debouched or the salt on the food of the obese? There is far more salt and I will refrain from comparing notes with those who have nothing to sprinkle it upon.
So, I am held up in this shack until the bigger guns come take me out. However I believe they will fail and I will become my own demise.

James G. Conzett