'Ill, or sick.'

Tightly wrapped inside a blanket, That i wet with vicious rain, Dripping down so quickly, I guess it's one more day... Perhaps, some things never change. And... Let's face it, If things don't change, they stay the same. I hope i'll be fine, Given time... But right now? I'm unwell. Sick of many things. Challenged by my own attempts at some obviously fading health. What does all this tell? Am i mad, insane, have something going wrong inside my brain? Or am i truly dying, like my body feels it's doing now? Sweat falls from off my brow, Out of anxiety? Out of sickness...?! A fight for mental oddities, Or a fight for life itself? I am unknowing to each of these, I only want to stay here please. But my horizons looking bleak, And i have not time enough to speak, My love, My dream, My hope, My fear... Instead i hold them hard through tear. Slowly fade to death with each crushing drop, It's crazy i guess, perhaps i should stop... Stop the verse that no-one knows but me, Stop the rhymes that make no sense as far as i can see... But one day all might be less a blur, And i can turn around one day, Realizing i was wrong... And that i was put right here to stay... At least for the next day, At least for the next day. Written January 10th, 2002 © on Jan 10 2002 03:46 AM PST, harry luck    18 • 0 • 10