In stark silence I lay,
Prostrate on a cement road,
I wait on a future that doesn’t show itself.
Lingering in my own abstract reality.
Expecting a universe to bow before me.
As if in all it’s intricate wonder,
It owes me the favor of acknowledgement.
This narcissism boils over,
Dusting me in a coat of profuse pride.
That leaves me wanting so much more.
As if I am worthy,
As if I have earned it.
Indeed, a fantasy of being so primitively important,
Is only a delusion that I carry,
In the recesses of my soul.
It will return to the darkness shortly,
And I will stand back up.
Trodding ever forward,
Duty bound, future focused, unnoticed.