Trudging the road with heavy feelings, like I am a pocketful of tarnished golden shillings.
Dragging feet through soaking pavement; walking, lured by the lark's shrilly singing.
Twenty-one years of overexaggerated living, I was promised of a life halfway fulfilled, only to find at almost twenty-two, to believe in people's wholehearted joking.
Spending the majority of my life then, just daydreaming of how things could be if only I had stopped believing.
Yet here I am, a pocketful of useless learning, but I don't know how long this would last until I stretch my fabric; thinning, only to shred it apart; bit by bit, tearing.