Sunday Wreck-fast

There is nothing sweeter than the syrup of the fruit of vitality

Your youth must be spread over cakes and mountains of doubt

Feed yourself the lies of the elders and swallow the truths of your peers

A breakfast of has beens and never was, telling tales of their lost loves

All you want is to live your life for yourself

Have a seat at the table and grab a tall glass of bathroom tears

A side of strength and perseverance to go with your scrambled young fears

Smell the familiar scent of dreams in the making that you’re desperately trying

Inhale the warmth of the nights you were out being young and weren’t crying

Chew over the plate you have been served in this life

Try hard to enjoy your breakfast and cut through the insecurities with a knife

Do yourself a favor and fill up. Don’t let life past you by



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