The fancy life was with once,
The essence of my imaginary adventures,
Yet my stride had begun to repent with each misery.
The flashes of yellow, specs of blue, dots of red each,
Caught my eye of blindness of which,
Was yet granted.
The life I live now holds glory,
To my future yet,
I still miss the desire to desire,
Something I envied of what,
Was what and to my what would never be known.
And here I sit.
Examining my nonexistence,
In a room of dull objects,
To satisfy only each other.
What is it now?
What is the urgency of my panic and loathe?
Is it denial?
Or simply greed?
The waves through my phones,
Hum volumes with faint promises and temporary smiles,
But soon I pray that someone,
Or something can make those smiles stay,
Even in my last exhale.