A single mental image from the past.

A sad reminder of a life utterly unrequited.

Of dreams, goals and aspirations left to die in apathy and confusion at an apathy that should not be there.

Wanton forgetting.

Cruelty and hidden mindful evil thrust out on point duty to mask unadmittable misery and self hatred. Never admitting anything to anyone for any reason and allowing a world full of love and potential to gather dust and decay into more hatred.

The need to fully ascertain life through experience and embrace outweighed by mindless, petty fear and pathetic narcissistic refusal to accept reality.

Forever night in the mind until it creeps forth, and oozes like a homicidal penetrating oil of the soul. Corrupt language of inner hatred issued forth in a CinemaScope projection onto the weak and the helpless.

A predator speaking mindless oaths into the blackness of a self-imposed permanent night.

Who will make this seen and known.

How can this be.

It makes no sense in the realm where scaling a mountain at a ripe old age was fun beyond what was expected.

Was there some other thing...?

Unnamed in the pines, on those rocks, sold as innocence and driven down by a precocious knowledge unready to be born in speech-covered by previous lies and sickness, never to be believed again?

Were the lies and the sickness planted?

They could've been....

Wracking my brain for the solution to this.

Wondering if there was something too terrible to admit to myself-and as result to anyone that mattered.

The pure, driven insanity of unlikelihood, and night terrors of victim and submission.

Cold metal midnight backdrop of a waking deadly dream and fear beyond imagination.

Inside or outside, wondering when it will break out into the light...

dropped to a gasping, petrified knee at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Cold sweat screaming fear into a claustrophobic void, grasping at the wrong straw and doing nothing to it but what an exorcist can with chants and and prayers and hands of faith and renewal leaving the shell to reassert it's genuine breath of life back into the land of the living.

Forever unknown? Or, perhaps, forever hypothesized untruth making a an unspeakable name in a scared shivering corner of morning twilight and the cave of an disabled heart.

Was the task she set upon to set the veil of black on me, or just a reflection of a place and time more unspeakable than mine. Inevitable, unavoidable? Endless cycle of derision and psychopathy?

No way to veer from the path?

Am I right in assuming what has been said is true?

What is done cannot be undone, avoided, or truly forgotten-just shoveled over and tamped down in a way as to remain unseen for a lifetime of doubt and uncertainty.

Can I ever know.

Will I ever see it in my mind's eye and and then place it where it needs to go?

Will that word, that name speak itself into the conscious realm to be beaten down for real and then always held at bay?

Or is it a mere suggestion.

My gut says otherwise and points me to yet another bottle, another insomnia, another choking, childish fear of what should be simple but isn't.

How does this resolve?

How does it come into the realm of identification and a deal with all the rest.

You did a good job. A genius. A Beethoven and a Mozart. A hidden switchblade stiletto of hell planted in a place I cannot reach to pull it out on my own.