The enemy really is in a "me".

Inside of these "me's", lies the force that lies in order to hide, the hide of the ally.

Yet in truth I wear the skin of the ally, for it is all I.

It is just a matter of finding the right route, the right rite, which leads me to the root of myself.

But it seems this war has torn me, like a bit of fabric I wore missing its seams.

Now in a constant daze I count down and own the days and hours, what used to be mine is now ours.

But like a mug with no ale, gum without a wrapper, I feel alone, incomplete, a rapper who doesn't rhyme.

Like an oceans tide and a wave of an angry sea, this feeling has tied me down, made me waive and risen over what there really is to see.

Is is friend or foe? Is it real? Is it faux?

How can I trust myself while being so trussed in uncertainty? the very presence of this feeling presents me with nothing but disharmony!

Maybe one day I will find the answer, and it may be that one day I will be at peace, but until this day arrives and until I see the sun, I will be a chessboard without a chess piece, a father without a son.