redundant and replaceable,
like a wilted flower, waiting to be picked.
because i know that nothing but terror lies beyond.
as desperate as i am to convince myself that i am significant,
this malevolent cycle always brings me back to the same place.
the self-deception was refreshing while it lasted,
for it placed rose-tinted glasses upon the bridge of my nose,
distorting reality and planting within me a seed of malicious hope.
a seed that has always contorted into a sprout of desolation.
it grows until its vines enfold my heart and mind,
and to my bittersweet surprise
i am shaken to the core as i snap back into clarity.