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The impatience will eventually kill me —just waiting for the good things to come with no promise of it ever being true— and I wait and wait —talked to people who got there and gave me false oaths that good things are my way
Until when? Up to what moment in time? How long should I have to scrounge the mountains of leftovers—eating what's thrown by the people from the higher ladders?
I have thought rubbish is what I deserved but after an era of believing —where did that get me? Nowhere—almost the same as believing that somewhere in the hall of stars and fame there's a place for me All hopes get me nowhere —I see that now as one would take years to realize
Until when? Up to what point in forever should I ride up to some peak? How long should I keep hoping I'll reach it and how long before it becomes clear that I won't?
I have thought of that a million times over —a dozen millions, in fact— and I've come to realize now that it's the hoping —not the waiting— the hoping for things to get better— that's what's going to eventually kill me
