minor league archeologist combing through the strata of pain

hoping for the find of the century

the root of all self hatred

he excavated layer after layer with cramped hands bleeding and blistered

it bubbles to the surface in waves of radiating sorrow

it all seems so abundant, he’s become redundant, just another case of cause and affecting disinterest

left a promising career in pachydermatology on this fruitless pursuit

how many dreams has he given up over a lifetime of failures

the treasures of another life lived through the lenses of bitter regret

so leave him alone to his digging

the awkward sobbing as he seeks to expell the demon that rages just under the surface

to clean the corners of the mausoleum in his heart so carefully erected

and become a self fulfilling prison of misplaced belief overflowing with misunderstood agony

heiroglyphics etched into the esophageal lining with acid and bile

perhaps one day he’ll strike the stone edifice of insignificance and let loose a shower of light in the dark cavern of his mind

a minor league archeologist sifting through mud of the swamp in his misery laden meadows

looking for treasure in the trash heap

working finger to the bone in futility

he could have been someone in another life, another time

instead he just follows the lines of the broken pottery hoping to piece something back together before it’s too late

not seeing

it already is