/lit/ - Literature

>>19373131
I am nothing.
wallowing and waiting for something in particular
given over to the temptations of the self
to lust, to greed, to the seeds of doubt and envy
planted in the psyche
sprouting, then growing-- flourishing, even
flowering in my mind
loose-lipped petals spilling over the edges of a broken brain
they fall listlessly through air thick with imagined praise
reverberating off slickly-shining walls
congealing in clumps of plasticine dross
shining like sewage, iridescent in the sunshine
filtered through particulates -- a late-century half-light
I am caught, ensnared, entangled
my soul a half-remembered dream
forgotten like frosted ice melting in the spring
a promise of summer, soon to be forgotten
betrayed
wrecked by lies
the truths they told, that turned out to be nothing more than fantasy
that i believed -- or rather wanted to believe
and it was just a dream
this rude awakening a stone crashing through the surface
sinking to the sea-bed
settling in the mud
lost to eternity
I am alone.