I muse among the maze of my life, only able to ever check behind, but never ahead.
And besides me is a force that taunts, a non-corporeal torment. Ephemeral reminder of my own fragility.
And mirrors surround me. All I see is my own pitiful state. My eyes are sunken, my skin pale. I am in a chronic state of exhaustion and sickness.
Above there is a luminosity but it is so far unreachable. I can only stare and pretend it has meaning, when it has none for my reality.
And the creature besides me covered in wispy thorns, bleeding ichor from his own afflictions and living in perpetual self-torment, he is the tarnished silver glaring back at me. He is my rage.
There is no way to flee such dread, and I have only the ability to make choice based on luck. And fate makes it appear that I never choose the right one.
This ugly apparition in front of me, whom is me, opens his mouth and a silent screech emerges, the sound lost in an agonising inability to express.
Starlight above, why torment me further with reverie and stupor for something that will never be? Stop with your deceptions and fleeting fancies. I am not of you.
I am lone and frigid, on this journey with none but my own distress.
I am sorry, just leave me to curl up beneath the endless bushes and make a nest of morbidity for myself here. I shall eat the dirt and insects and survive from the sap of toxic browned ferns which surround me.
Calcify me, until I am entombed within eternity. This will be my escape, my legacy.
And one day when the tectonic plates have shifted yet again and the sea swallows up the land, I will be washed ashore to some foreign place and be worshipped as one of old, fallen from grace.
And so I will continue on in the impressions of all, not as any real thing living, but something which woefully passed away.