deepundergroundpoetry.com
When is it Too Much
Pridefully, yet weakened, in the end of the conversation, he asked;
"When is it too much. I feel like I'm dying every day inside. I am ash."
I held the number greedily in my pocket, clenching it in a fist. "It's not your business," I heard her inside and "you have one job in this. Give him the card and leave there's no reason for you to stay. You're drunk and have to wake in four, let's just forget about this dismay."
My breathing started up, anger flared and I felt his death dried in my grip. Clenched on the piece of paper that she said he would dismiss. But the words like paint on a canvas drew a story he wouldn't ignore. She shows doubt that I could form the words to earn more than a skeptical scorn. But as I drink and sip my tonic and watch him from my brim. The blood, the cuts, the note, it all starts echoing a neverending swim. His friends all stand around and laugh, say "yeah, he's always this morbid" but none offer him solace, here matters are dark and too sordid
So as we are in a bar and he don't know who the fuck I am to him. I see into his soul and know I can only speak in chagrin.
Yeah I have to fake who I show, which one of us to pick, play along
The night ended like this and the conversation was long:
When is it too much? It is When there is nothing but a pit and exhile. There is no sun in sight, walls line all that you see for miles. There are beings there, but they all fiend for their hunger and sport. You look around and feel a warmth not shared and don't know how to sort. Who you are, who you want to be, how much you'll let this world control. It angers and it frightens cause it's weight is more than you can support. Giving into a pain so greedily ready for your wealth. You wonder 'how much more can I give before I have no one thing left.'
You have a light and if you listen to the masses you will not die a happy man. Just listen and remember truth is the only friend you can ever have. Don't fancy things in abstract and don't search for that spiritual release, science and vision are the only things left that one can use to defeat. And when there is a supernatural artifact in your midst. Respect your limited knowledge, your limit on physics. You are alone and will have to understand how you fit in. Just understand you are important, from your birth, to the grave you fit in.
I have no comfort to you, only hope you are lucky enough to know. Truly, deeply, within yourself, you are responsible for how you grow. And only when you lose hope do you start to live a lie. So when you ask, when is it too much? My answer: It is when hope, truly dies
"When is it too much. I feel like I'm dying every day inside. I am ash."
I held the number greedily in my pocket, clenching it in a fist. "It's not your business," I heard her inside and "you have one job in this. Give him the card and leave there's no reason for you to stay. You're drunk and have to wake in four, let's just forget about this dismay."
My breathing started up, anger flared and I felt his death dried in my grip. Clenched on the piece of paper that she said he would dismiss. But the words like paint on a canvas drew a story he wouldn't ignore. She shows doubt that I could form the words to earn more than a skeptical scorn. But as I drink and sip my tonic and watch him from my brim. The blood, the cuts, the note, it all starts echoing a neverending swim. His friends all stand around and laugh, say "yeah, he's always this morbid" but none offer him solace, here matters are dark and too sordid
So as we are in a bar and he don't know who the fuck I am to him. I see into his soul and know I can only speak in chagrin.
Yeah I have to fake who I show, which one of us to pick, play along
The night ended like this and the conversation was long:
When is it too much? It is When there is nothing but a pit and exhile. There is no sun in sight, walls line all that you see for miles. There are beings there, but they all fiend for their hunger and sport. You look around and feel a warmth not shared and don't know how to sort. Who you are, who you want to be, how much you'll let this world control. It angers and it frightens cause it's weight is more than you can support. Giving into a pain so greedily ready for your wealth. You wonder 'how much more can I give before I have no one thing left.'
You have a light and if you listen to the masses you will not die a happy man. Just listen and remember truth is the only friend you can ever have. Don't fancy things in abstract and don't search for that spiritual release, science and vision are the only things left that one can use to defeat. And when there is a supernatural artifact in your midst. Respect your limited knowledge, your limit on physics. You are alone and will have to understand how you fit in. Just understand you are important, from your birth, to the grave you fit in.
I have no comfort to you, only hope you are lucky enough to know. Truly, deeply, within yourself, you are responsible for how you grow. And only when you lose hope do you start to live a lie. So when you ask, when is it too much? My answer: It is when hope, truly dies
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