10 Sketches

I'm working on, late.
With a blunt number 2 pencil.
The air is cold.
As cold as Autumn's heavy rain.
Shiver as I am not.
As my warm heart is still filled with anger.
Anger to my alter ego.
A pointless debate.
Of which is a better person.
But hoping that the true self will come.
That will end this argument.
Thus taking over the soul.