Too Much

With the weight of my thoughts too much to carry, I sit because standing hurts too much. Lost in a stare my vision - no focus, wishing the tick tock to release its lock on the forward motion.

But it's too late to change, too late to transpose the cross on my eyes and the dots on my tees and the laundry can't clean the blood stains from my knees.

Forcing words that no longer appease there's no way to lick the wounds on my tongue when my teeth cut.

Waiting for waiting to be over - giving when there's nothing to give, because what's the point in having when having is never enough.

Accepting my punishment for the my butterflies with broken wings - for the singing the song I never sang. Shame and guilt fortify this small room I've built.

So I just sit here waiting, because standing hurts too much.

By: Andrew J. Dorsey
October 1, 2013 at 9:31 p.m.

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