I found myself in waist-high filth
Smelled of rot, a rancid deluge man had long since forgotten
Attempting to recall the night prior gave only snapshots
Glimpses of motion, I could not recall my mind
Motivations and ambitions fueled by the ghost of myself
Led me here in this pit
As I take in my new prison, surrounded in desolate ichor
I see a motif against the noise:
Humanity
It all is a culmination of us
Our stories given their throughlines
Our paths and our aspirations
It paints the sewers and the gutters
Above and below our tapestries
We create and we adorn the masonry
With our journey along this hollowed rock
Until we are forgotten too
In a pit of filth
In a sunken grotto of viscera
Our own and the many as one
My limbs, my bones, my blood
My body, my mind, my soul
All into the pit of filth
All into the pit of filth
YOU ARE READING
Lines
RandomA mess of stuff that won't fit elsewhere. Some are pretty absurdist, no direct continuity unless stated (doubtful on that, these are meant to be one-off poems/stories). I like to explore different styles of writing in small works like this, so some...
