SLITHERY HOPE 1

He’s in search of an identity. He’s false….a failure perhaps, he concludes with a sad spread of the lips, totally mirthless. A hypocrite to be exact, a fake ... the musky stench of pretence following him around. A stale humorless joke for a human, the lies are catching up…the cover will soon be blown, the truth straining hard to be known. The once firm foundation of the former crumbling under the persistent weight of the latter…he knows both, created both, though he had help from family & friends, outsiders & enemies…everyone with an opinion; supporting, criticizing…steadily and gradually helping to unconsciously carve out a reality or maybe a hallucination. 

Now he stumbles down his streets, fuzzy with uncertainty assuring a dominant glum expression, burdened with trying to drag his messy past into the ruining present in the hope of a perfect predicted future.
It is dark, the silence creeps loudly up his spine, sweaty palms reaches out wishing for just a wet little splash of heaven in a very dry hot hell…
…a light flickered on…
‘If I can hold on, maybe…’ the thought grew on the commencement of a sequel.