Dark Poetry

Excess

cioetepuwaarl4y

Excessive…
Everything about existing seems excessive now.
I’m more like an excessive entity
that’s breaking at the seams,
that’s spilling out of its container.

For I am uncontainable.
For I am uncontrollable.

Undefined,
uncategorised,
unimaginably chaotic.

I wander among the chambers of my mind,
wondering what I’d find this time around,
wondering what awaits at the turn of the corner.

Rewriting the chapters,
erasing the books I created,
I struggle with these memories –
memories I no longer wish to have
but ones that keeps popping into my mind.

Love –
an emotion I’d prefer not to be given –
an emotion I’d prefer not to possess
yet I have – in an abundance,
in an excessive manner.

What’s the point of all of this anyways?

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