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Smells

The smells of burning rubber,

Wafting with the essence,
Of the unspoken.
Such fires burning forever,
In the memories I have come to fear.
And thus, days come and nights go.
Never waking to the burning sun,
As I lay each night, delaying
sleep,
Each minute, laying, praying,
Through the endless nights,
Yearning, anxious for one more
day.
Fearing anything more
Would be far too greedy.
Each day, a movement to contact.
Each night, I lay trembling,
Avoiding the dreams I so fear.
Thus, to be at war,
Is to live in the present,
Nothing more.
Forsake the future
as impossible
revel in the past
wake,
each day knowing,
believing,
this could be my last.