Battleground of a Background

As I lurk in

vulnerability's invisibility,

I gradually begin

to cast a silhouetted shadow

in front of me.

This, covering the concealing me,

remains till the remains

of the foretold future

are turned into amplified

asbestos ashes.

I say this as a laughing stock

living the life of liberated lies.

I must find my way back

but the allegoric alley

to every extent is dimmed

by intersecting indecisiveness

--like crossroads criss-crossed

with another criss-crossing crossroads,

 scrambled scribbles which are longing

to be completed,

repeated, then depleted.

Right now, I can feel them

straitlaced inside

my collapsing chest--

now they form

hurdling hurricanes,

holding another

hopeless humidity.

All I wish is for them

to be gone before

another battlefiring backdrop

of wining woebegone.

But it all lies in me, within me

I've wasted pulsating paragons

without saving me

from what's inside me.

Now, I have to read

my revolving resolutions

before the revolt inside me

catapults the entire me.

I, in the vileness

of violent valuability,

only want to end all

interrogating inscriptions

which imprison me

from me and everything

or everyone 'round me.