Wasted by Anonymous Domme

Many mistakes we commit through the course of our existence;
Hearts broken, lives lost, virtues compromised,
From tiny errors in judgment to great chasms of regret.
We tend to cling to them, excuses becoming blankets
Keeping us comfortable and warm in the chill of despondency.
Owning our mistakes, looking them straight in their cold, hard visage
Is too wide a leap to bear for so many of us.
We seem to prefer the toastiness of our obliviousness
Which is at least familiar albeit a waste of our precious lives,
Like sands running through the hourglass – bit by bit it fills,
Counting moments, the breaths of time.