Mind Games

However many times I press repeat
the tape plays out the same.
It sickens me,
like a wilting flower kissed by frost.
I watch myself,
as a disembodied shade
I see only my own thoughts and pains.
Stuff it down,
a locked box within a locked box.
If it can be managed,
that is.
There are no ways to stop
the tape from playing.
My ugliest moments on film,
when life feels stale and stifling.
A slight caused only by myself;
the worst mode of punishment.
A deep breath
a calming humm,
and repeat.