A post-apocolyptic poem/story. I read Anthem by Ayn Rand and was inspired.
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Because of the never-ending search for flawlessness, I was left behind. They were nice, and they waved at me each time they passed. Once, they picked me up and held me there, curiously, like a child. But they were not children. They were barren of innocence, yet barren of sin. It depends of the pair of eyes you look through.
They were God among people, and peasants among God.
I laid in the cold of their forgetfullness, like a comforting bed. I bathed in the memories of when I was their new.
Their discovery.
I lived atop their shoulders then.
A fool outstretched to the sky.
I should have realized when their backbones sagged that I was about to fall from grace. But I was their personified perfection. I'm dwelling between their loss and regrets now. The darkest part of all the world is where my heart will be.
I am abandon.
I am shame.
I am flawlessness.
