Too Much Too Much Too Much
There's too much.
There's too much.
There's too much.
I can't make it better.
I can't make it better.
I can't make it better.
I can't fix it.
I can't fix it.
I can't fix it.
Nothing makes sense.
Nothing makes sense.
Nothing makes sense.
Threes don't help.
Threes don't help.
Threes don't help.
It's too much.
It's too much.
It's too much.
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
If you or someone you know is struggling, you are not alone.
988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline — call or text 988, 24/7. Crisis Text Line — text HELLO to 741741.
ZACCHAEUSANEW
All the sentences you may find have deep, dark secrets of my mind. If ye seek, then ye shall find; They might be bleak, they're unrefined. When you see them, please, don't sneer; I only wish for you to hear.
View all poems →Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
Comments are closed for this poem.