It's a creeping larcenist preying in the depths of night. Leaving hidden cicratrices; it is shrouded in darkness with only fleeting rays of luminescence peering through.
It's a terrible disease. A vile and manipulating affliction. Infinitely petrified in the amber of mediocracy. Pinned like beetles under scrutiny. A scarab on its back, grasping at grains of sand in the wailing wind.
Branded permanently with the searing A of average. Cauterizing rampant dreams of grandiosity. Marred by jagged utterances from friendly fire.
Elusive blueprints dancing on crackled, antiquated walls. Splintering cohesive thoughts now blown asunder by squalls of inadequacy.
Reclusive shadows of a former envisioned self dwindle into dust. "NOT GOOD ENOUGH" my brain demands while my heart suffers at its nonexistent mercy.
