Wednesday 2/14/2007 12:02:00 AM

I want less.

The majority of people work toward the accumulation of things. Better things. More of them. I want less.

To wake up to a sparse room. Walls scantily clad with the beginnings of madness. A song lurking in the corner. Its lips on fire. A movie grinning from the ceiling with lidless eyes. A contingent of bottles on the desk. To cheat the word out of my coma. The supercilious pathology of depression.

There's so always more to want. Always something better. Judiciously circumstance rations our rewards for the rare occasions when the right buttons are pressed. That's what I see in other people. The desire to complete the task because of the what they'll get. The more.

The infinite labyrinth some god decided to call more. and stuck us inside to see if we'd ever admit there was no exit.

There must be more. This I know. Because there are so many places it could be hidden. And all the people I have known, it's what they trust. What they need to know.

But I. I want less.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.