Untitled #5

I don’t like tears.

I fear the necessity of them.

Fear that once the flood gates are open,

the pressure will cease to die.

That all it took to build them up,

To the point at which they spill

Over into the chaos and havoc, of

All that had provoked me,

Will be too much to get back up.

We all go to hell at some point

And it’s the rare and lucky,

Who make it back.

None make it back unchanged.

 

Because, the fears,

The overwhelming feeling

Of never having enough time,

That there will never be enough time,

Is enough to cripple the mind that

Has the most potential to be the brightest

Of its kind.

 

It’s madness- it’s insanity,

It’s the chaos of life.

The anger spawn from depression,

The depression spawn from the well

Of  past events, brought to thought,

In moments of weakness.

The feeling of inadequacy.

Of failure, of mistakes, of trying. Only

To return to the elements, of which we all came,

Of becoming that failure

Because you made one too many mistakes,

One too many things left undone, but

All thing are eventual, all moments end,

All things will grow to die

In the end.

 

Reviews

[The_Jabberwock]

ahh the familiar angst of young poetry. this is nice piece, I liked the flow. though, very emotionally charged, this one

[chandlerl]

...Thank you.

[The_Jabberwock]

i'm sorry if I offended you, I really didn't mean to =[