Writing Prompt

I miss it.

The parties, the gala, the recognition. I miss the taste of champagne on my tongue and the smell of fresh money from the ATM. I miss people scrambling to make me happy and getting favors whenever I wished.

They say “Rome didn’t fall in a day.”

But I think it sure did. My Rome, my life, collapsed and crumpled up into a shriveled mess of flesh and bone, in less than a day.

Those days of the past, are long, long gone.

I miss it.

But it’s gone.

the wallet in my pocket, once tearing at the seams now its thin as paper, what does that mean for me?

you i grew accustomed to and could once afford but you’re slipping through my fingers, i don’t have you anymore

this hasn’t ever happened and i don’t know what to do just sitting here daydreaming about the nightmare that was you

I’m being hold back by no One but myself I feel like Hands are wrapping around Me telling me I’m not good Enough But it’s just the voices In my head on repeat until I Shake them away but they Come back the next day

I don’t mean to make a threat, But so be it if my only way out is death. You may see Los Angeles as a pipe dream, But it’s the only place for me. And so much more healthy. I’ve never known how peace would feel, Or even known if it was real, Until I woke up in LA And didn’t want to die that day. I have never felt at home, Until when I went to WeHo, I know I could do so much more, If living wasn’t such a chore. If I didn’t have to often pass by these memories, None positive, I wan to stay far away, In the middle of LA Since that’s where I was meant to be. I’d never need the cocaine, I’d just be on those bomb weed strains, And drinking at the bar with gays, Wondering how many more days, Until I’m supposed to go away, Again, when all I want to stay.

The feet of rats are muddy The souls of rats are tarnished And no matter how great a rat becomes He will always be a rat A rat racing

In a world of wealth and grandeur, I once did reside, A pompous, judgmental man, with arrogance as my guide. But alas, fortune turned its back, and left me in dismay, For the scales of justice tipped, and my riches slipped away. For the next few weeks I’m stuck with poor folks, Completely unaware how I’ll survive, This feels like a coax. I can’t believe people really live like this, Have they no pride? When I was invited on this little trip, I assumed it was somewhere nice. Now I’ve agreed to this terrible mistake, stuck at a place called the Red Roof Inn. Someone’s already offered me “Beef Jerky” and said this is the nicest hotel they’d ever been in. I’ll probably leave with bed bugs and disease, In what world did they think I’d be pleased? Is this hell? If not, it’s close, You can bet your ass, I’m going right back home.

I brought my things with me, I’m not leaving them in that dingy room, Now I’m overdressed at dinner drinking something called “Blue Moon.” I checked for the next first class flight out, but there were none I stumbled about.

I bemoan this cruel twist of fate, To be reduced to middle class, it's simply not my trait. But here I am, pretending to be poor, you see, Living a regular life, oh woe is me!

I stroll the streets, mingling with the common folk, Engaging in conversations, pretending I understand being broke. I approach a regular chap, with a serious tone, And tell him I made my fortune, by being nice to a wealthy relative, right before he was gone.

The regular man looks at me, with a puzzled gaze, As if my words were a joke, a comedic phrase. I persist, trying to fit in with the crowd, But it’s not working, I’m just too proud.

They ask for advice, seeking wisdom from my past, And I reply, "Why worry about rainy days, my friends, when you can make it rain champagne, oh so fast?" The crowd stares at me, both surprised and confused, For my words are absurd, and they can’t see my view.

Being broke is like a bad joke, with no punchline, But I'll keep pretending, for a little more time. After all, there must eventually be an upcoming flight. Ah, but deep down, I know, I'll never truly be poor, But this bitter taste of normalcy, I completely abhor.

I'll continue this charade, with a fake smile on my face, Living a middle-class life, in this peculiar space. As soon as the opportunity arises, to flaunt my wealth once more, I'll seize it with gusto, and let my riches, and wings of the plan home, soar.

Days spill from my pocket Never knew how much I had Only how much I have lost

once i felt as though i held the world in the palm of my hand and now i can hardly breathe from under the weight of its crushing boot

i had everything with no need to do anything but now i find i don’t know how to do much at all

i burn everything i touch or rather, everything i make on the stove i always used to have someone to make my lovely meals

i never had to lift a finger but it seems that has made me weak for now i am lost at sea without my glittering gold to guide me

i stood atop a mighty hill looking down on those below but now i stand at the base as those once below rush to claim my place

life was a breeze life was mine to mold now i learn life is cruel for all those but who i used to be

Having the world at my fingertips, Life’s riches at my personal disposal.

Now it is though I’m Atlas, holding the world I used to own On my shoulders.

The weight I carry is unbearable, Beating me down, day after day.

I used to bathe in the eyes of glory. Now, I cower in the shadows.

As if I’m a stray dog, begging for scraps, Fighting at the bottom of the food chain.

Will I escape this Pandora’s Box?

Having it all A phrase used far to much. To assume All is something that can be obtained. But greed was my right By birth and by breed To be brought so low It is something I cannot endure. The shame It is more than I can bear to shoulder. Seeing my peers My peers no longer. Brought so low By hubris and by pride. I will not let them see me I will not let failure win. I will carry forward And continue on Having learned There is more to life than money.