You lay with stagnation
A sterling object effortlessly within your reach.
It is food, a bag of Doritos.
Open, beckoning for you.

Like a blind beast you stuff yourself into the snackly relive,
Reaching far for any crumb.
The bag is empty, the joy begins to be ripped--

Another bag, Fritos, a repetition,
You immersed yourself into the instant reward of joy and bliss,
then, the second your comfort is complete the hand reaches inside of you pulling out all your joy and replacing it with guilt, sadness, grief, and finally emptiness.
Making you lust for a way to put the planet in reverse, or at least just make it all go away. Disappear.
Or cloak either it or you in a black more thick than oil.

An epiphany.
Fuel yourself and find that in getting up, walking across the room
Opening doors,
Going up and down stairs,
cleaning the self.
A seed will find you.
Plant it, with true and pure care,
Water it, with true and pure care,
Pour your life into it.

And if it is pure

Then when the olive tree is full,
You will lust no more, need no more, want no more.
For what the complex joins you with will not allow anything into its holy trinity.
If it, you, an the other are pure.

Not as silver,
And all will fail and the blind beastly actions of the past exists as if never gone.
For it was simply hiding.