best enemy

Men tormented, like me,

Are an emphatic simile

Of what we

Used to be.

Wantingly, I tried,

Forgetfully,

To not remember

Who I once was.

‘Til, on the eve of one November,

I died again—

Recalling when I was born—

A sheep completely shorn

Of his wool.

Looking back, naked and uncool,

I didn’t deserve the man I am.

But a ghost of mistakes,

And a growth-reflection

In that glassy pool

Of introspection:

I’ve become my best enemy.