Talked Out

source: myburnoutthing.com

I've traced the circles of the story;

Measured it from end to end.

I got diametre and radius

And drew out chords as well.

Right now I am talked out.

I've answered questions,

Made projections,

Cast conjectures,

Listened to lectures;
Been subject to pressures.

And I am just talked out.

I've heard arguments

And lodged my defence.

My closet houses numerous jars

Crammed with everybody else's two cents.

But I am quite talked out.

I've told the story so many times

I wish I could record myself

Then play the tape at whiles

So I don't have to tell it again.

Some might call it rude when

I let out a sigh before I start

But all you need to know is that

I, For my part,

Am all talked out.

This thing has been hashed and rehashed
So many times that by now
I doubt if there's an inch of it left
That could be considered new ground.
Child I am so talked out.

I am all talked out.
I've told it well,
I've told it badly;
There's no more to be said.
And although you may not see it yet,
I just have to say my friend
That you can keep on whipping it
But this dear old horse is dead.

Apologetica

With every choice,

There comes the consequence.

For every risk,

There is a cost

And even not to choose

Becomes itself a choice.

And not to risk,

Is to run a risk:

The risk of being wrong,

The risk of missing out,

The risk of stagnating,

The risk of failing to grow

And being left behind.

I’ve failed you I’m afraid.

I thought I did you justice

I thought I helped you learn,

I thought I nourished you

When in fact

I stifled your creativity,

Your free spirit.

My help, my correction,

Was abuse

And my brand of justice

The most atrocious of

Injustices

And now I’ve spoilt

What could have been

A beautiful painting;

I’ve thrown out of harmony

A melody that should have

Gone platinum

Many times over.

My selfishness, my fear, my ego

Have marred the tapestry of our lives…

This is my apologetica.

The weight of regret

That lies on my shoulders

Presses down on me

More and more

With each passing day.

I wish

I could turn back the clock

With the knowledge

I now have

And then just maybe…

But how to change?

How to make things right?

How can I rewrite the role

That I have created for

Myself?

How to break free

Of this image of perfection,

Of innocence, responsibility

And saintliness?

A role produced by others

Before I could yet

Understand

Its repercussions

But one which I accepted

And learned to play

With dexterity

And convincing

Improvisations

But this is my apologetica…

I just want you to understand…

…and maybe one day

We can forgive me.