It's Always Inside

When enough is enough

It’s not me, it’s him. You will figure it out.

For him, the place is always there, just ahead at the next transaction, just out of reach. Look, as we age, we distill into one of two things: The best of ourselves, or the worst of ourselves. Whichever is the part lurking just below the surface, that’s where we live, that’s where we spend the last days of our lives.

For him, It’s black. His actions reflect it, even as those around him are puzzled left trying to figure out, some trying to help fill the hole to the whole. But it’s bottomless. Those that help are just as blind to the bottom as he is. It’s more, then more. To help fill it, all bets are off, all rules, all laws.

We see it, some of us. A man, who never got the affection and approval from a steel plated, hollow, greedy father. He craves it, this approval, and no matter how much he gets it can never be enough That father is long dead, and when he was alive he himself was long past the ability to give what a boy-man needed.

We loathe him, for his actions. We hate him. But the pain in him runs deep, the desire. He can’t let it go, because he doesn’t see it. Neither our hate, nor the gnawing bones of his desires. He’ll do anything to get it. The desire for affection turns to greed. white to black, white to green money, white to blood red.

The striving for more. And more. That will never be enough. The world is not enough. To fill up what’s hollow, what’s missing. All of those that help just add to the collective hole, add to the collateral damage. All that clawing, all that gnawing, it leaves everyone exhausted, some bleeding, some dead. It will never be enough until we say:

Enough.