To castaway…
The sweats.
The shakes.
Take long morning walks.
One sided talks.
And,
it is not the toll of death…that bring forth the tears.
Nor,
the let’s make pretend and forget…years.
Why is it the fractured limb…seems always the last to fall?
Why is it the large than life…pray on the smaller than small?
This life of…walking and rolling with the punches…
This feel of…your self motivating guilt…has lost it’s usefulness.
I can no longer take hand me down trips.
I may have been bred sick.
But I can choose to not live in your illness.
That is my prayer…as your god is my witness.
