I hate myself, but not myself,
The face I wear, the books on shelf.
It is the other, dark and grim,
That lurks within, that rends the limb.
A gentleman, so prim, so neat,
With polished boots and manners sweet.
Yet underneath this crafted guise,
A beast doth dwell, with hollow eyes.
Oh, wretched curse! Oh, fickle fate!
To bear the weight of love and hate.
For he is me, and I am he,
A twisted shade of what should be.
The potion brews, the vial glows,
A transformation no one knows.
The mirror cracks, the shadow wakes,
And all my soul in horror shakes.
I walk the streets, a fiend, a knave,
A monster born from what I gave.
The hidden self, the secret sin,
That festers deep, that burns within.
I hate myself, but not myself,
The other self, the hidden elf.
It is the truth, the cruelest jest,
The beast within is but the best.
For in his heart, so wild, so free,
Lies all the man I cannot be.
The chains of virtue, tight and cold,
Cannot contain the spirit bold.
Yet still I fight, I claw, I tear,
To keep the beast from open air.
For though I hate, I cannot kill,
The other self, the darker will.
Oh, duality! Oh, human plight!
To walk in day, to prowl in night.
To wear the mask, to bear the shame,
And know the beast bears my own name.