morphine and vicodin create a haze, nothing more
no relief in sight for my serious injuries, the ones to my heart and soul I sit waiting for a visit that I know will not come. I take inventory of this world where I wait. Sounds of motion in a hallway that I cannot see, as the world moves beyond comedies like my life. I feel the fear mixed with relief in others, as some find salvation or further damnation. wonder where my soul sits on the scale. They arrive meek, mild, with a touch of embarrassment, heads bowed, knowing the disappointment they bring. could they talk, they could say it no better. Nothing says, "I'm done with you," quite like carnations from her. Comments are closed.
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