Contraction

Honest self-scrutiny too easily mutinies, mutates into false memories Which find language a receptive host, Boosted by boastful embellishments. Self-esteem is raised on wobbly beams, seeming seen as stuff enough To fund the hedge of personality, Though personally, I cannot forget Whom I have met and somehow wronged, wrung for a jot of fugitive juice, Trading some ruse for a blot or two, Labored to braid from transparent diction Fiction, quick fix, quixotic fixation. As the pulse of impulses Drained through my veins, I tried to live Twenty lives at once. Now one is plenty.