might as well be a deserted island

dear self
What is this mess that
Life has become
Swiftly into the heat of this summer
A barren pigsty of self-loathing
A muffled junkyard, with covered horns

dear self
What tsunami tore through
The perfection that was
The sheer bliss of ideological happiness
Unfettered by real-world demands
A peephole sheds equivalent light
on the similarity to what was once here

dear self
I ask you now for forgiveness
For the world that I have been unable to save
For the battles I have been unwilling to wage
Save for the ones within the boundaries of friendship
Where borders get bent and broken from misuse
If this is content then show me what isn’t
For what I seek is not present
what I need has long left my aura