Flat on my face
Bones still intact, no cracks, no scratches
My face flat on the ground, lips kissing the rough sands at the bottom of the
pyramid
And then I come to, knowing too well the steps I took
With my eyes wide open
Remembering each stride I made to get up there
Hearing each heavy breath I took
Pushing my body, pulling my limbs
Tearing my skin, clawing through the sand
Determined, I had to, in my dreams I had to
In my dream, my mind saw the pinnacle of the pyramid
A beautiful pyramid, well structured, designed to project false realities
Enticing me to get up there
Maybe haunting me
Or...maybe warning me not to go up at all?
Yet I climbed the third time around, the fourth, a decade passed
Still I climbed the pyramid
I arrive, I stand, I see myself there, I feel being there, I am there
Each time I reach the pinnacle
All the same, it’s flat, and then it’s pointy, sharp as a blade
And then I hit the ground, turning around, hands flat on the ground
I could only see the bottom of the top from here
Each time I climb, the cycle becomes
All the way up…and then face down at the bottom of the pyramid