Sometimes my past becomes more than my present can handle. With no one to tell but myself in the mirror. So I scream at myself and say the only good hero is a dead one. Wishing I could find peace. Praying for the pain to end and the anger to go away. Hoping all anyone sees is the kind me. The bit of love that I force to the surface because it is the only part of me I wish to keep. So now I keep the beast at bay. I pet my dog, smoke my cigar crying silent tears. It will all scar over again soon.