Testing, Testing… Noiseless Singsong

Blessed be the blessed me

cursed to recreate repeating mistakes.

Blessed be by blessed chance

to squander the stabs at peace.

By the decisive or the circumstantial,

I spin circles with bleeding pens,

searching for endings in spheres,

dissecting a globe for its edge,

half willing and half unwilling in a mind’s ignorance,

having witnessed the self-made flaws

and half loving and half unlovingly drenched them in cement.

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Blessed be the blessed me;

the statue in my path.

Blessed be by blessed restraint

to repair the apparently irreparable.

Told to adore through surviving

and idolizing the struggle towards aspiring,

I’m writing off skin marks as a knife’s love bites,

unintentionally intentional as an improvement tool,

deliberate in its use but equated to negative,

yet I am assured to inject fable into math,

confusing the losing side as the breathing side.

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Blessed be the blessed me,

returning to revenge versus glass.

Blessed be,

blessed me,

cursed again.

( ❤ Mitch)