---

There are no spectrums of hope here,
only fragments of past loss in this pane.

Particles of self in negative reflections.
Acceptance, like light, that failed to meet these eyes.

My wound is self disgust, bored out by my matriarch.
Made to control my life.

Encompassing and consuming me.
Its void isn't deep enough to crawl inside.
So I become its surface, forcing it to reside beneath me,
in attempt to hide my true nature.

The man behind this mask,
a total sum of all your failures.

Depression now leads me by the leash.
This hollowed body heels and licks the wounds.

Control lust, nurtured by deception.
Marionette born breech,
botched death began this life sentence.

With no light to guide me and stripped of all defenses.

I remain in your image:
A lie.
I remain perfect in your imagination:
A lie.

A virtual projection - punished for pasts - not lived my me.
This reflective version of atoms is not my story.
As this rib is not my own.
Stop blaming me.

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