Darken mirror looking back 4

I exchange outworn self-opinions

for freshly bludgeoned feelings.

Invisibly pulled along

by these as unconscious means.

I cannot yet say pain into words.

I cannot sing to myself

to set me free.

It is a riddle of self-parts

that would rather problem than solve.

Blind-sided by flash points of memory

stirring me into internal storms.

I pronounce myself

in densifying self-distancing ways.

I speak the light

in drunken stupors of passage

to the delight of others receiving calm.

It is as if I were stealing from myself

but giving all the wealth away.

I seek abuse from others

in a deductible complimentary way.

These small deaths by another's hand

are a priority for me over self-deceit.

I can seek to make the world

of others a better place

as my demise in positive avoidance.

I would rather fight others' battles

to avoid the conflicts

standing over my soul.

My self-vision is often littered

with this soul-less decrepidness.

Apparently I can go no further

then busyness spontaneously takes me.

My epiphanies are based

on impulsiveness blurted out of me.

If bleak and bright were all night travelers

on my train,

I would sleep with bleak into the dawn

so that false hope

would have no residence inside me.

I would shun bright

so that dawn would not confuse

my day life with my dreams.

My wounds fester in false hope.

Self-redemption's simple worth

buys no tickets, lives in the now.