Playing with fire
Burnt fingers keep on reaching, even with the flame so near. Wanting, grasping, broken, bleeding; you'd think they'd learn by now. Bite them off, they’ll keep trying. Caught up in the myth of someday.
Hope’s a fool's dream, a delusion of grandeur. Many are the faceless masses. Someone’s got to flip those burgers.
Betrayed by childhood; wide-eyed and hungry, ravenously believing. Hardwired desires; desperately seeking goals out of reach. Trying to be everything you were told you could be.
On you struggle, ever failing. What's the point? They'll mock this too. Give it up, dreams are for the chosen few.
YOU ARE READING
In a flashShort Story
Short works, flash fiction and drabbles. These pieces may be as short as one hundred words, or as long as one thousand. They may be speculative in nature, or just a bit of prose poetry. Some of these works may be found in my other collections. I wa...