On the subject of my-future-behavior

Creativity is nothing but
a gesture without any lack of
initiative; my thought in happiness?
I'm equally reminded of my weight!
How, I believe, my "closet friends"
are stuck behind the door.
In the future I reveal my distant past
serves my memory well:
as if Stanley Kubrick were directing my film.
I would challenge myself of no deviant nature present
in my acting habits.
My style is of great opportunity to me.
The script I own has been writing itself for me.
No mistake I've made.
My tender, love, and care.
My competence factor 'x'.
My concentrated desire,
I focus on the fate of my becoming.
My perfect crystal-ball and chain,
why not express the truth I command.
Such as 'eating.'
I do not desire to express despondence in my eating habits.
I automatically obey the rules of digestion in my stomach.
Brilliant, radiant energy of the mind.
My hunger is in my stomach.
Of all places throughout every part of my anatomy,
my stomach is the most seduced of all.
I have an addiction.
My obsession is in the thrill of dynamics for food,
as I am a hungry, hungry-man.
The thrill of my appetite.
It is in my stomach that forces me to believe in all things.
My temptation cannot, must not, ever be suppressed.
Nor, can it ever be oppressed or mislead.
I repent.
Therefore, I seek redemption.
Through such slander or accusation,
I bare false witness to.
Not to push, pull or test the limits.
Character is not a question of my dignity,
it is a victory over high maintenance involved.
My body - is in my stomach - a property right.
As I gaze into perfection of a pond that glistens,
avoid eating foods that will not benefit my weight.
Eating smart is healing the stomach.
My diets should not give me negative thoughts,
"related to anxiety".
My independent survival is not the source for
my own confusion.
My stomach deserves premeditation.
My departure is not imminent,
I do not mean to get hurt myself.
Hearing the sound of my own voice I love.
It is a feeling of personal resurrection.
A choice.
Decision.
Challenge.
A sweet sound.
It is the base of my actions.
In leading by example
not waiting for the truth to arrive.
That I observe in such lazy-behavior.
Making myself think bigger
than I really am.
Made up are my thoughts that I am worthy of.
I have made up my mind.
That, I truly I am not unworthy.
The end of my story begins again, and again, and again.
As I keep myself alive and well with the sedation of good-coffee.
I have an untiring persuasion.
A paranoid threshold of intolerance lacking in defeat.
That competetive spirit I force to feed,
the mouth of unparalled yet equal conceit.
This is the nature of my plot,
my story,
requires me to finish in its replenishment.