Oh, so many things that
burden me, such weight;
Each book and movie, every game
Is nothing but a heavy chain,
And every hour I have lost for nothing
But my money's gain,
Has lost its greatness and become a pain.
If only I could cast away
each empty shell, each husk
Of long-gotten benefits and old unused wants
And have them gone and dead by dusk,
Then I would not feel so pulled into the dust
And damages caused by bonds and bills.
Every object's but a coffin,
And I've since sat and lost my will,
All in the name of gluttonous lust.
Every word I have
devoured, every sentence savored,
I've long forgotten and no longer favor.
They crumple beneath new urges, yet they remain,
The essence of a pleasant memory
I yearn to capture and hold in sentiment, by willpower.
But to hold dead wants is no strength of self at all
But merely a well-masked weakness.
Each delicacy I drown in
Pleases for only a moment before the call of MORE
Pushes aside the latest obsession,
And I am called to crave the next and greatest.
So ever onward, ever up (or is that down?)
I keep taking, feeling I am moving forward,
But I am only going back, in, far
Into a dark and lonely depth of self-induced depravity
Not because I am deprived
But because my cravings make my stomach
Though well-fed, feel like an ever gaping cavity.
Perhaps, someday, I can
let them go,
And cast them off,
And sail away with a lighter load
And no longer wishing it were not so.
I think, perhaps, I've gotten close.