Through a glass darkly…
Every month I come back around to this place
Where I see through a glass darkly.
The sunlight itself is cold and brittle,
And even the slightest sound is filled with bitter pain.
Part of it has to do with a low supply of meds,
But part of it is the awakening of my mind from their stupor.
The lowering of the protective bubble that shields me from
The worst of the pain and distress I have become.
And what a thing to awaken to;
Another month older, And not the slightest bit closer to a cure.
86 cycles down;
No one knows how many more to go.
My 4 year old angel has grown while I have been gone
Into an almost teen beauty filled with her own mind and wants.
Those lazy days of hugs and tender kisses,
Almost faded away forever.
My gorgeous bride, beautiful as ever,
Preparing for a major change of life and style.
A going back to books,
That she set aside to care for me and my spawnlings.
And too much more to list by person,
A lifetime of living condensed into the pages of a hidden diary.
Little things said and done that
Compose the reality that is life.
And perhaps the worst part of all,
Is knowing that tomorrow I will lose it all again;
Into a haze of narcotic mist.
A white blinding screen that eats up the days and leaves only the briefest flash of the nights.