Clinging to a chair. Chained down - not by anything physical; a force you cannot see holds you to the seat. Stagnant, staring, watching life go by at a trickling pace. Flickering light streams in from the bit of sunlight that is other's accomplishment, other's dreams fulfilled, and the life you could have. Yes, you. Strikes of lightning, rolling thunder, and bouts of pouring, torrential rain that are everything else: failure, people (yes, the ones you care about) who do nothing, but could be so much. The ones who let life pass by; trivial. You, who also lets life pass by because you feel complete. But you aren't, not a single soul is or ever will be. These fill the dry basin around you, up to your calves in things and bits of happiness and dreams unaccomplished. And as you're stuck to that chair, chained by that invisible bond, a match floats by in the river of horrible that is slowly filling up from the rain of everything around you; the steaming, acid rain that poisons you and your mind and your body, that stings your skin and makes you scream.
Live out your dreams, and make yourself into something. Strike the match. Ignite your nightmares.