Burnt Biscuit Blues

Disappointed with all of the garbage in my head

I feel like wasted days again

Twenty four hours of dying flowers, unused powers, a comfortable coward, pretending to be weak, these days far from empowered, words and actions soured

Tell me, we’ll get them next time, we’ll get them tomorrow if we make it

Tell me, it’s alright, tell me I’m not wasting my life and time in a boring schedule until I die.

I feel like a used wrapper from wasted days

Blowing in the wind, litter in far from its proper place.

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