Too Late For Friend

There's a path or reflection
through the days of misconception, 
where I once was what I am not, 
and everything I lost. 
Now are the days of construction, 
of mending my own destruction, 
the fire that had commenced, 
started by my own breath. 
I still see a smoldering flame, 
hidden beneath all the blame, 
I've left for myself, 
in a jar on a shelf, 
marked with an x, 
chug and hope for the best.