Vices


Those voices of past,
Have you ever heard,
Crying for that deep,
meaningful and daunty,
some blurbs and flaunty,
Alas, We move on to new pace,
As if in life, we all race,
Being fake is real, that
smile we all wear.

Jolts the way it passes by,
your memory has a sweet marking, Aye.
Was your smile, and talk was real,
Or I should close the door, surreal.

It was my vices,
to forget past in ashes.
 

For those who encounter the melancholy of the mid life vague pros in life.

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