I Express Myself Through Writing

How time has changed me. Time isn't tangible until it becomes personal. The ache is personal, the regret is personal, the understanding of want and loss are personal. In the mirror, I am blind. As once it allowed me a perception, now only a scent. The scent of my own pretense and the taste of martyrdom for a cause. A cause not of my own. I can hear my exile, its melody reminds me of sunset. I can feel the spikey cats' tounge of futility on the back of my neck. Now I may be revered, for my lack of reverence. I can now be ignored for my want of ignorance. ICI repose while fully sentient. Posthumously, never a man before or during, always the man after.