Prosthetic Positivities

Self-perfidy ignites the story again Contemptuously, I run to my patience's edge; Strain it further, till I make the inner-burst. Then, retreat callously, pricked by mundane-me. Stuffing disgust, within air already replete with loathe Growing old meaninglessly was never been so apparent. Earthly cravings enshroud 'tomorrow-shines' Dreams Habituated to condone the swerving: - hope-spikes almost dead. I concoct excuses faster than getting tagged for manhandling promises But sometimes, envying weeds, I realize how wasted I am. Time seems insensitive to my pathetic pace, But I Still cling to long-back-brewed self-expectations. With just few hope shreds, I keep the faith candle lighted These loaned hopes are too expensive to afford now.