Smoke-filled windows,
Past lives sorrows.
Half-filled glasses,
Solid water and other matters.
Biting nails to fooling frauds,
Making laws of our own.
Have a temper not meant to keep,
Saying words from the dark in a heap.
Wishing for the sun in the night,
And the dark in the light.
Stars in the sky,
Even though the clouds make us blind.
Irritating yet always there,
Better than being away.
Bad habits of old, guilty pleasure unknown,
You the favourite misdemeanour of all.
Poor heart in a rich world,
Judgement even from the tears we shed.
Feeling wrong in the world of false rights,
Fighting to find a place of shared sights.
Change in some necessary and imminent,
But some hold on to me like my past;
Making me unique and human,
In this earth’s losing game.
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