The Ironic Curse of Caring

The ironic curse of caring

Withers at the bones of independence
Which is worse: to care more or less?
I cannot say for I am victim to both
Silent I sit in a car with flickering shadows
And I wonder why caring has to leash us
Restrain us from packing our bags and leaving
When enough is enough
To care too much is to restrain yourself
To a carousel of self doubt
Spinning and spinning,you try to focus 
But the watercolor mess of faces
Is too much
It’s too much
Colors seep into my mind
They ramble and scramble; stop stop stop
I only want one 
Red or blue maybe yellow
But all of them come rushing towards me 
And ruin my canvas and taint my brushes
And so I throw it all away
To care too little is to succumb 
We hold our breaths
The waves of emotion do not sway us
We are in danger and we are okay
Our ship is sinking and we could not care less
Water fills our lungs and we smile while we choke 
We will always float to the top
But that means little
No one says you have to be full of breath to float
Both are whirlwinds, inescapable and dangerous
There is no medium
There is no middle ground
Bury me in the earth
I will have the perfect amount of cares there


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