Object Force

Too much Dark,

     Ever present clock work image display of the past on repeat of where I've been rummaging about in my head, Force a quell on the shadow within, Don't want to feel this overwhelming hate for the skin that's my disguise, Too old to begin the acceptance process even the mirror denies,

     Reprogram the internal self loathing disposition algorithm, Tonight I'm conscious of you oh creative dark, Fight back the cloud of once flash of light's hope impenetrable plague a mental disassociated shadow of self acceptance disorder, Breathe to flex the soul's muscle imbued feminine embraced mass, Side of a leaf stirring in the winds of blowing signs in fate's breeze.

     I am awake and I strive... An aptitude test for hope is subliminal keeping so many alive tonight against suicide, Yet inside I can barely fathom a breach of another's heart on my behalf, No way despite hell could I ever inspire love, Maybe I've just spent too many hours on this thirty year journey on a lonely walk one way road to giving, Thus it's indescribable a reciprocation conduction in a connection to me, It doesn't matter though, Tonight I fight the lonely dark with words so tomorrow I might rise and write to die... Empty, of all inspiration, though I might find myself surprised at finding acceptance... and possibly the ever evading thing spelt l.o.v.e.

In earnest anticipation of,