Cross-sectioning an infection, disinfecting effects affected by my affections, reflecting - in sections - sessions of recessions in moderate succession.  In a possessed obsession, I depress to access expression, a profession, digressing under my own discretion.  I question my confessions of progressed aggression, my suppressed transgressions compressed in oppressed concession.  Impression?  Depression.

I am the magician on a mission to petition the ignition of once omitted emissions.  To petition the position of the ambitious politician, the composition of the corrupted musician, the admission of the munitions condition in tradition.  I fight suspicion.  I fight the apparition of the mortician of intuition.  I exhibit the inhibition to abolish the definition of my opposition.  And yet, I transition.  I submit to nutritional malnutrition.

I predict the infliction of my own affliction, it's an addiction.  It's the friction of my constantly contradicting conviction.  You see, I perceive the deceiving inception of conception as a preconceived reception of misconception.

Hell, my mind is in its own dimension of dissension.  There's no extension of contention.  It's the prevention of comprehension.