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.
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