Too many,
In the dark,
Imagination,
Cold and Stark,
I no longer cry,
Except inside,
But I have,
Nowhere to hide.
They creep up,
From dark,
From the cold,
From the Stark,
Disgusting thought,
Romantic or frantic,
It preys on my mind,
Maybe my mind on my soul,
Because when you can't,
Think of anything,
That won't turn,
Into the everything,
Of the wrong,
It has become,
Too much.
And you have become,
Too much.
I cannot be handled,
While I struggle,
To get out the rubble,
Fade way,
To a land far away,
I was like this,
Before I even existed.
Socially,
I have no one.
Because no one,
Can can except even one,
Minute of me.
What I see,
Is the futility,
Of me trying,
Of me crying,
Of me prying out the terrible,
Unbearable,
Thoughts of me,
Thoughts in me,
Thoughts carried with me.
It's too much,
To fight.
Too much,
For flight.
Hope?
No light.
Too much,
So much,
That that light no longer exists.
In me.
But maybe in others,
It is there.
That is fair.
You can use it,
As a drive,
Not a path,
But a motivation.
Like a vacation.
Too much for me,
Not enough for you.
Yet.