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 papier-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.