I’m just a man with dust
Slipping through his fingers
Searching for a place to keep it
A redundant reflex born from memory
Dust is never the beginning, no
It is the ending of all things
For Time erodes it all to grain
For nothing’s meant to stay
The future looked so bright and new
Ambition held my gaze
As friends, lovers, pets and family
Crumbled in my haze
And by the time I realized
That they had decomposed
I strived to grasp all I had left
But I was just a man with
Dust
About the Creator
Vicious Avarice
The ramblings of a man obsessed with fate. Poetry, quotes, and inspiration. I am a published author who rides the beast of imagination. A storyteller. Check out my children’s book “The Christmas Monster” on Amazon or wherever books are sold
Keep reading
More stories from Vicious Avarice and writers in Poets and other communities.
Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.