That old ego is back
Wants to destroy everything
Hates what’s happening
Hates who I am
Decides everything needs to go
Decides he needs to go at it alone
I worry when he’s around
He takes over me completely
Honestly I understand him
This time around I’m with him
Which has made him hesitant
Hesitant causes concern
He worries about me
He worries I might lose it all
Then again what do I have
Might as well tear it all down
Funny now he wants to stop it
I’m the one who wants to destroy
So torn, so twisted, so lost
The old ego never dies quietly—it waits, watches, then resurfaces when the cracks reappear. It’s not subtle. It’s chaos in disguise, dressed like clarity, pretending it’s the only one who understands. It doesn’t just want change—it wants to burn it all down. And when you’re tired, uncertain, and stretched thin, that voice sounds less like an intruder and more like your own. That’s the trap. It doesn’t take control—it convinces you to hand it over willingly.
What makes it harder now is that you’re not resisting him like before. You get it. You see the pain underneath the rage, the isolation behind the outbursts. You know he’s just trying to protect something broken. And in a twisted way, that understanding makes him softer—makes you the one who’s ready to destroy, not out of hate, but because you’re tired of pretending things are working. It’s a dangerous alignment. One that blurs where the ego ends and you begin.
There’s a kind of beauty in the conflict, even as it tears you in half. To feel this lost and still be self-aware enough to name it—that’s strength, not weakness. You’re not numb. You’re here. Torn, yes. Twisted, yes. But present. And sometimes that’s all you can ask for. To stand in the middle of the storm and see it for what it is. That’s how new paths open—not by destroying everything, but by deciding what’s worth rebuilding.
