The accomplishments mean nothing.
They are words on a page and I
Am meat on bones set to become maggots
Sooner rather than later.
.
There is no pride in success,
No victory in achievement when I can feel
The slow creep of the decay
Starting in my fingers and toes.
.
I've been left in the sun too long,
Charred and grilled on the asphalt,
While up goes the list of things I've done
In smoke.
.
It pollutes, it poisons, it soils.
These stamps, these accolades, are just ink
Pressed impermanently into skin but the fly
Has already laid its legacy, its eggs.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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