Cardiac Massage

The end of me, the end of you.
Ill probably just hand you, a menu.
An instruction manual to the dissection of my heart,
a glimpse through my cranial crystal ball,
A look at pure evil, and pure love
And the measly line that draws them apart.
When the preverbal Shit has hit the fan,
And you wonder what pains me,
What changes my face
My emotion
Ambition
A burden I don't intend to share,
But rather destroy
In the presence of something truly greater than my shallowness,
My powerless,
My ego.
Are you prepared to not fully understand this darkness,
But kill it simply because it wants to kill me?
The end of me, the end of you.
The beginning of us.