The Grind

They degrade They deny They hurt and lie Yet on I grind and on I find theres a piece of me that I left behind The weak, the fearful, the terror filled by the daily grind, the old me is killed Yet as I look back upon my struggle My brain I cannot help but muddle Am I the same? Is this really better? Have I ruined myself by going for the better? Have I ruined my heart by toughening the tender?