Well, you’re saying that your pain could be worse, which is an innately optimistic thing to do; however, a large side of you is negative causing a conflict of your own self. I thought you expressed that dichotomy quite nicely…unless I’m totally off.
You’re not off. I like how you perceived it. I believe that poetry acts like a mirror, so many people see different things, and you can never really say what is right or wrong.
With that said, I was actually trying to convey how my pain cannot get any worse and that I am at my lowest, I just don’t have the necessary means (i.e. the death of a loved one) to justify how I felt.
I hope that makes sense 🙂
That same exact wish keeps me company when I’m all alone, comforts me, just for a second, until guilt starts eating me alive for even considering it. I can never tell which is worse, the feeling itself or the fact that it can never be justified. Maybe we mourn ourselves, the small parts we lose over time for all the lies, the betrayals, the family of perfect strangers, the friends who turned into enemies… Then again, What difference does it really make?
Dude, yes. Awesome.
I’m intrigued by your comment. Would you mind sharing your thoughts on this?
Well, you’re saying that your pain could be worse, which is an innately optimistic thing to do; however, a large side of you is negative causing a conflict of your own self. I thought you expressed that dichotomy quite nicely…unless I’m totally off.
You’re not off. I like how you perceived it. I believe that poetry acts like a mirror, so many people see different things, and you can never really say what is right or wrong.
With that said, I was actually trying to convey how my pain cannot get any worse and that I am at my lowest, I just don’t have the necessary means (i.e. the death of a loved one) to justify how I felt.
I hope that makes sense 🙂
That same exact wish keeps me company when I’m all alone, comforts me, just for a second, until guilt starts eating me alive for even considering it. I can never tell which is worse, the feeling itself or the fact that it can never be justified. Maybe we mourn ourselves, the small parts we lose over time for all the lies, the betrayals, the family of perfect strangers, the friends who turned into enemies… Then again, What difference does it really make?
Maybe we do mourn ourselves. I’ve never thought of it like that.
I’m a bit confused as to what you mean by “what difference does it really make”.
I guess what I wanted to say is that even if it was justified it doesn’t make it any better and it sure does not make it go away.