Waste

The days grew grim and tedious of routine, passion slumping through the bends and creases of my old sweater worn too many times, burnt holes and seams untangling themselves from that wrought out mess I called a past. The days grew pale and the skies grew grey as I watched heavy sunsets from a place where skies bent and breeched smiles on superficial beauty, give or take a few depths in each soul. The days slept, remained dormant and dull as I woke and watched the slow breaths of the hibernating, tip toeing every place I went, peeking at every turn, slow paced steps. 

The days grew tiring as did I, as days were spent away like eternity stood lingering, waiting for me, as I wasted life.

Reviews

[SHEEMA HUQ]

Hi Melinda, i meet a pessemistic creature here....this is quite a powerful message, I was gripped, thank you