I can try to hold my own in this vast uncertainty called life and accept it. However I can rattle my empty tin can against the bars for equality in reality. A simple thing to most. They do it without even realizing it. Here's to those not lingering in the pit. Here, there, and everywhere, I'm jealous, regretful really of what will never be. Pseudo med's from pseudo doctors. I know I really should have nothing to say, but I long for a cure. I given up on so much this time around the cyclic illness. I've ceased to be me, no painting, sculpting, anything. I barely write anymore either I'm dying slowly or I'm giving up. I don't know why I feel like I've been kick once to many times, but I do. Checking out for today.
