Poetic

Gatsbys American Dream.
The Horse You Rode In On.

I think I've read this book before.
Hardbound, shiny cover. Pretty colours.
But an ending that's sure to disappoint.
It's not what you'd expect when you open the box.
And all the things you'd wish you'd find, fleeting and taunting.
Colours drab and ordinary.
To the brilliant white of not knowing what's inside.

But how can I bear to behold that dream now?
That my eyes have adjusted to the concrete wall of this box that I've opened?

And I know I'm more than just a little fucked up.

But I'm trying.

To make.

My way.

Back home.

I'm done.
Afan.