Dreams of Grown-Up Living

I once pictured banquets, fine wine in a glass,

not crumbled leftovers, as moments just pass.

A birthday alone with a wilted green leaf,

the silence of laughter sharpens my grief.

The cake lies half-eaten, a single burnt wick,

where chatter was once, now feels stark and sick.

Adulthood, a farce, stripped bare of its pride,

with empty plates staring, my dreams on the side.