Perspective: Forever Living

Please give me a reason to cry. I want to see if there is anything left for overflow. I’ve been clutching hard on to what’s left in me. Trying to make it to the future. Cause the teller says it’ll get better. And there’s got to be something to be alive for. And the doctor says, this tablet is what will keep us living. But my banker says I need to work to pay for insurance. But sometimes I just want to rest in the soil, feel the sun on my eyes. And close them shut for a while. A man is walking down to someplace to drop his load, to cash in on the value, to afford his next meal. And I just want to stop and help him, and pay for something and offer a lift. But I’m so fucking busy. Busy with worry and disappointment and things to complete to be ready for something else to do in the future. I feel spent already. And clinging on to a promise that someone will be here for me when I need some help. But my love is too fucking busy. And I’m drowning in this despair kind of. Some longing to be on free time, and available to give and receive. Is this why the end looks like rest? I’ll have to make time to care, it’s not as simple, being of aid where life is past time. Is this why they eat you alive, when you’re finally finished? Finally enough time to pay it forward? Finally available for someone, to pour into.