The Death of Me

I'm sick of living in the shadow of "Who I used to be" and "Who I want to be"
burning an imprint on me.
I can feel the fire seeping through my skin.
As troubled though, as the thought, I tend to let it be.
Scorching my will, hopes, and dreams, ripping my only reality.
This "Monster" it consumes me.
But I'm afraid, and I watch as it tears me apart.
Submissive, I leave it be.
Too powerful; strong, I can't come too close.
Otherwise, it might overtake me, disown me.
Yes, as much as it hurts, I could never
leave it be.
This"Monster" that I have, it's
a part of me.
And given the chance, that chance I'd  refuse.
This "Monster" may very well be
The death of me.