Poem: Wasted Life

Everywhere is wasted life,

as people beg to stay alive,

thinking that breathing is living,

living in servitude for:



and expectations,

desiring that which they don’t need,

hoping that their sacrifices have meaning,

expecting everything to work out,


worry filled existence, aimless thoughts, mimicking life,

as one fails to live.


Those who have the luxury to be wasteful,


for they are taken care of by those who must waste their life out of necessity,

the working man, the working woman, equal in suffering,

keeping their desires, hopes and expectations bottled up with bottles,

turning them into smoke through smoking,

their aching thoughts taking a backseat to their aching backs,

painful breaths, hardened hands,

unable to accept their worst thoughts,

which are horror-filled images of different paths from which they turned away,

or paths that they could have had if they had the luxury to choose,

and so, stuck in this stage show,

saying and thinking what others say and think,

the only relief now is an eternal sleep,

for the blissful future that was promised is only for the living.