My Invisible Enemy
A thief resides
in the blind spots
of my bruised
and battered
mind.
It whites out
joyous moments
and distorts
views of self
and the tone of
internal chatter.
It feeds
on clustered thoughts,
clogged emotions
and paper-mâché
smiles.
It mocks
my dreaded desire
for loneliness,
and thrives
on sabotaged plans
and poached opportunities.
It drowns my desire
in procrastinating
intentions.
Scribbled down
on epidermal lines
with sanguineous stained
blades
attempting to exhume
traces of solace.
Inevitably my enemy
gives birth to
psychomotor distortions
which rob me of
latitude
to prevent
my ambition’s
silent suicide.
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