Aspirations, always around the corner

From the back of you or through the thinnest skin.

Instinctively they turn, with no signage

Trying to fix, like when you commit sin.

I don’t fly freely like the Butterflies.

I am a closed jar, filled with anger.

They may abruptly comeback in surprise.

My fire still ablaze, like an ember.

I stop caring with the time that’s passing

They are still the same, happy more than me

I see them involved with addicts airing

Too bad for them they will get caught beastly

They might be like those, but they still have light
That light might be benevolent or slight.