I invented the force, the hegemony of forces.
I’m farthest from the first to have done it,
but only I have made it code for how I conduct.
The Force, A ravenous force, a never-ending taste for the bland.
The faucet gushing every path leading straight to my skull.
The rules of loss are simple;
You’re a treasurer before you own it.
You get comfortable upon ownership and
You value or resent it when it’s gone.
My loss is different.
I am already acquainted with the new owner.
Even though I suppressed, what’s not meant for me will not be.
I have not only lost ownership of it but I have lost rights to myself.
Mourning both losses,
Trembling at the thought of what the month would yield.
A loser, I may have let you obstruct my vision.
Is it the body dysmorphia? or the probable results of our bodies collisions that have me fixated on my reflection?
Have I once again convinced my body to forget hunger?
Or Are these food aversions because I am scared that the probability may show?
I lost control of my temple, it has worshipped false idols.
Idols who will not make sacrifices in return and for that, I am crossed.
I flung logic out the window with such haste,
I numbed the voice of reason and for now,
It feels like loss lessens lessons.
