In a deflation reeling world, we all have been victims to the game of chances. The empathetic smoke revolts the labyrinths inside my mind. 

I was stuck chasing past lives as I watched others find all I’ve been longing for. Sometimes I close my eyes and wake with a foreign despair. 

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Closest friends navigate towns, meeting new pretenders dressed in mischievous grins.  But on a Sunday afternoon, I met a misunderstood individual. 

Didn’t realize I had been holding my breath; we went from strangers to an exchange of numbers. A slight curve in their smile explored a foreign part inside me. 

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Under the influence of flawless complexions, all I felt was an earnest drizzle. Never did I expect the art of eye contact to become my muse. 

On liquored possessive weekends, hand-carved features blurred the crowded room. A sudden heaviness in my chest drove me to foreign routes. 

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Nights of violent rage sent my train of thought down an interstate of red lights. Laced in faint touches, coordination became lost in my steps. 

I’m enamored by the inviting scandal of brown eyes and the anticipating gleaming 2:00 am rush. An excruciating siren follows my lead as I try to decode foreign signs. 

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Risks were not part of the roads I would usually let myself follow. 

Getting invested in the whispers of my mind brought the best lies. 

Heartache, rules, dreams; I knew it would all get caught up to me. 

Unwanted attention blows through mosaic glitter glass around me. 

Winds of regret and feverish ghost feelings have left me reaching. 

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Three months of counted summer days; 

We managed to have everything after ignoring all the sirens, but a Title for this foreign road.