Every abundance starts with a single touch
But the problem begins when the bliss becomes too much
Too much of something is never a healthy route
When too much is not satisfactory, you need to get out
Every abundance starts very small
But even if it's the most wonderful thing of all
Too soon it will reach the stages of obsession
And you will have no memory or recollection
Of ever being content with "just enough"
And now the road starts to get rough
Because the thing you hold so dear
Will eventually only hurt you here
So your love becomes poisonous and twisted
As you take over the thing you once resisted
Such an obsession is not love, no
Merely infatuation and a reason not to go
And yet I cannot condemn this abundance we hold
This love is not poison, but worth more than gold
And although I am obsessed with every piece of you
--how could I make myself not to?--
Our too much is always good
And we are always as we should
Yes, the only abundance I'll ever trust
Is this gold we share, this abundance of us.
YOU ARE READING
Written in the Wondering State
Poetry"If we exist only to someday cease, Who are we here to please? These drops of life we continue to seize; Do they make us thieves?" If poetry is constantly spilling out of me like ink upon the parchment of an aspiring writer, then why not write it al...
