parade of pretty things

on and on, the days fly by, beyond my window. inside i am stagnant. muffled voices belonging to bodies i cannot see from my vantage point. all of them moving this way and that way, i have become so far removed from them that i feel that my window is no longer a portal to an outside world, but a glance into an ant farm. inwhich, my pets know not of my existance but only of moving through the day, pulled by their simplistic wants and needs.

even though their pathetic life is totally lost on me, their needs to live only on the surface of existance, upon brief moments i grow jealous of them. ignorance is bliss and the like. they are so beautiful in their pretty packages, wrapped up wo nicely, bright colors and glamourous patterns. each w/ a colorful bow on it, and a small tag that i cannot read but know the handwritting. floating around like presents falling from santa's bag. bobbing up and down in the frozen river, and even then ll i see is the dark, twisted hands of malicious, wicked things hidding in the shadowed depths below.

i want to be a present, but my wrapping was torn way from me long ago. i became water-logged and sunk. down to the deepest part of oblivion, only to be tossed back on the beach and left behind by the receding tides. forgotten. doomed to forever to remember what it was like to be a floating gift, now only a broken toy left on the beach to watch the endless procession i will never be a part of again.