nothing else but my heart's desire [COLLECTION] | FINISHED

Plants - ORIGINAL PROSE

Plants on my window, they gather dust in the dim light. Plants with wilting flowers, longing for nutrients, for love. Love I cannot give, as I lie here in bed, wishing for the end and hoping for nothing, with just enough energy to make it through my day. Tired I feel, as my body aches in ways which overwhelm me, threaten to bring me to my knees, drag me further down as I spiral, as I find myself at familiar rock bottom. I see myself in the mirror, as my hair grows wild, unkempt, messy, as though I have returned to solitary and nature as was intended. Worries fill my mind, occupy the space in my heart where love should be, as my plants inch closer and closer, as each day passes me by in the blink of an eye, as I can barely find the strength to put one foot in front of the other, as I try, in vain, to list each problem out in methodical fashion, as I attempt to combat poor habits in a superficial manner, without thought or meaning, rhyme or rhythm. And still, my mind travels back to happier times, but they, too, were make-believe, pretend, just comforting lies to conclude a story which shall never end, to help soothe old wounds and scars, to smother the soul as it indulges in its own pain time and time again. I wish to be free, so I write and write again, but I have grown tired of writing the same old stories over and over again, with life moving on as I remain stuck, frozen in time, my foundations built on quicksand as I search still for meaning in a meaningless world, as beautiful still continues to find me, and I it, in this cruel, twisted game of cat and mouse, predator and prey, life and death. So here I write, as sleep evades me still, but it matters not, for I have come to find, again and again, the beauty in the macabre, the dark, the solitary and the grey, blurry, uncertain space between this day and the next, as spiders creep from their webs and snakes lurk in bushes and cracks in walls, as foxes search for the next meal, as familiar it would seem such a feeling of unease would be in the animal kingdom, which we lose as each year shifts into the next, as we move further and further away from our roots and lose ourselves in the wonders of technology. As wonderful and odd,,as beautiful and strange, as much as I love and hate with equal measure, I find that my mind is a complex, intricate web of lies, of sadness, of happiness, of stagnation and of joy, and yet I still have yet to encourage my plants to grow, to live, to branch out as we do, with a small cycle of life and death we are so used to pushing away, to allowing it to fade as we do, to discard and never consider why. I have watered my plants, and they seem so much better than they had been before, but still I shall never the true meaning of choice, as it relates to each other and ourselves.