nymall Nicholas Fagerlid

deep in forest dark, a broken temple waits...

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My Ancient Bones

Deep within the forest green,

A ruin, ancient, dark and kept,

Far from road or wanderer,

Sleep and lies away from sight.

Stone walls covered in green vines,

Nature takes these tool shaped walls,

No longer meant for soldiers deploy,

A relic of a forgotten world.

Everything you have done has brought you here.

Once paved square now filled to burst,

With trees and weeds now mustered here,

The ghosts of residents long gone,

Sleep instead of stand to bear.

The situations you get yourself in are not bad - YOU are the only common factor in everything that has happened.

The stables fallen to time and rot,

Now filled with bushes flourishing,

No hands or blacksmith service here,

Only rats, or birds, or squirrels, or bees.

The only reason you can't keep up is YOU. YOU are broken. Not your job, or your family, or your sleep. YOU.

A forge sits silent, cold and black,

Where once metal was smelt plentily,

A place of death and discreet poison,

Now healed by nature firm but free.

YOU are the reason that your ideas never succeed. No one trusts you, so you go it alone, and you fail. Everyone sees you for the disease you are.

A square sits empty cept for bones,

The names of souls does matter not,

They are inanimate, empty and gone,

A danger to none, and a memory long gone.

You are broken. You will never be better, and you know it. Stop trying to be smart - you're not. Accept what you are.

Oaken doors block the way ahead,

Old and sad, they sag in place,

An annoyance, swift removed,

To a interior deep and dark.

Stop trying to impress people. You are an idiot, and you look as such.

Empty hearth, mouldy books, and eold stone,

This place has not seen life,

Since bone held flesh, fire warmth,

It's better like this. Less to loose.

It's better for everyone you're alone. No one left to hurt. Tomorrow, if you disappeared, no one would notice.

The stair rounds wall up to the top,

A chamber fit for king to queen,

Empty save for rot or moss,

A perfect crown for a empty throne.

Your loved ones would think you were snubbing them again. Your friends would just think you went dark. No one would think of you, and no one would care. They would not worry, they would simply hate you for leaving them behind. Stop trying to convince people how to fix things. THEY DO NOT CARE. They want you to go away. Just stop.

A empty bed, long lost to rot,

holds a final musty skeleton,

No title, name, or rank remains,

Just bones bereft of purpose or fate.

You are empty. You are nothing. You are alone, and this is how it needs to be. Until you accept this, you will keep suffering. You are balding, fat, and alone, and you will never be happy. You won't fix the world, or anything. You don't have the time, money, or charisma. The best thing you could do is remove yourself from the situation, but you won't. You are a fat, bald coward, and you never should have lived.

So go ahead - work, fight, try and do all the things. You will fail as you always do, then you will be discarded, as you deserve. You will feign outrage, but you can see it in their faces. This was you. You should have just died. Just gave up and froze. Putting one foot in front of the other has been your plan, but it is a failure. Nothing will ever work, and you will be here again, like you have a hundred times before. Plugging your ears and sleeping, running away from everyone. But I will still be here, watching you fail and shaking my head.

It's no ones fault but yours that you can't keep up, and if you're not willing to keep running, just give up. It'll be better for everyone. No more failed projects.

No more broken promises.

Jan. 21, 2024, 10:52 a.m. 0 Report Embed Follow story
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