I spent each waking moment building something I could love
but when I finished I could see that what I built was not enough.
Upon that revelation, I poured all that I could give
into a life that I could pride myself in saying that I lived.
Much to my chagrin, I just could not be satisfied.
Every time that I was "happy" was another time I lied.
I spent my every penny on this life of misery
and then I looked into my eyes and I could see it wasn't me.
I build, and build, and build, and while I build I break apart
until the person who is building's not the same as at the start.
I hate this wretched building, every brick I laid by hand,
and how I ever thought this would work out I'll never understand.
I learn I'm the destroyer, though I never would admit,
for each building that I create I end up smashing into bits.
It took me years to figure out I was at war, within my head,
between the builder and destroyer,