Abberations and After-Images

I keep seeing such horrible images, be they in daydreams or nightmares. Myself, bleeding in a pool of blood. A shot to my head, my body limp on the pavement. An empty funeral home with my body set for all to see, and none to look. I cannot escape this feeling, this notion that I will leave this world alone. Lost in the turning seas of my inadequacies. I keep seeing macabre visions, destitute prospects, a shady future. The grave calls, and death seems imminent.

Maybe I’m not alive at all. Somehow, somewhere, I feel like part of me is long gone. Like the best and brightest piece packed up its things and departed long ago, abandoning me to live out my days with its image forever haunting me. “Living”As a husk with dreams, but not a means to realize them. I have deep longings and burning desires. I have big dreams to set the world on fire, but not a match to start it with. I have urges, but not the gumption nor resolve to see anything to fruition.

I cannot escape the specter of reality, none can. My name will fall into obscurity, my identity lost, and no great impression shall be left on the world after I depart. It will all be for not. My burning dreams; these fires I cannot squelch in life, shall go out with me in death.

Even those that “make it big” do so without being preserved. All we have are hollow cardboard cut-outs. We can construct convincing caricatures of these giants that walked among us, but we cannot see them for what they were. Our view of them is always obscured by the gap of time, by its inexhaustible and unrelenting flow. In time all will be forgotten, and misinformation shall reign supreme. It has happened before, it is happening now, and it will happen again.

What is another sod to the plow?