I cannot rot in lowered confidence until it decomposes
me

It seems the only thing by my side these days is time

As time fades away, it stales
the moment

Dry, brittle, crack feelings in its crumb-like
existence

Hoping it will turn into sawdust inside my mind

But as the particles remain, so does remnants of my
faith

Spilled milk spoiled,

Crying over wasted emotional goods that have
expired…

Not great for a newer display for this assumed
commodity

Never wanting to be out of season and in the clearance
department

Sold at a price below my worth

At a cost, less a few cents of a bill

Seems the shelf-life of my self-esteem was not
imperishable

And unbeknownst to me how to preserve it in a jar

The preparation of the presentation of prettied wax
paper and a bow

It did nothing for the sale of intentions

Just distracted…