Evading thick, self-produced overgrowth to remember, momentarily,
something beautiful.
Bars entwined with drooping,
rotten remnants of past encounters.
Floating listlessly in a consuming pool of solitude,
the foliage grows darker and less promising.
I am part of this, the shadow of myself
becoming larger and more frequent,
my need for the dungeon gaining urgency.
It is all that I have left.
It is my highest reverence.
It is…
idiotic.
Slivers of pink and gold sunlight are faintly, softly visible through my mass of darkness.
This is what I see,
still trapped inside the dungeon.