The possessor of nothing

I am no longer lost or to be found
I am no longer hope fallen to the ground.
I am no longer the last to be profound.
I am no longer soaked tears muted by broken bonds.

I am the surpassing of the bound
Which misguides the eyes and heads that float,
Leading them into the empty sound
Of their beating hearts of coal.

Infinite lines of stories told
by men immersed in their deepest dreams
Have the finality of ending loneliness
With a whisper that avows life's exquisite schemes.

I am no longer doomed
since humanity became rotten sustenance;
I'm not sure if I'm the consumption of the bloomed
Or if I've risen for a life-long decadence.

I exist between the lines of present, yes,
Dancing and entangling myself in past memories;
Don't be mistaken by this obnoxious fact, though.
I am, nevertheless, nor the captain nor the owner of a soul.