Wasted

Nostalgia spun with threads of void
Often reminds me of the dark:
The one that I abhor, with passion galore.
The eyes are tired of premonitions
Dictated by the treacherous mind.
Living every moment involves
Seeing hopes crash a little more,
Dying smiles burn a little more.

Wires hanging in utmost negligence,
In the streets reeking of cheap rum,
Remind me of days wasted in doubt.
Making a leap of faith is not easy
For those fearing aim.
The real fear strikes;
‘What I could be’ fades a little more
In the dominance of ‘What I am’.