Regret and Ailing Health

On Death and Dying. We compromise. The megalomaniacal leering head hovering just outside my step, and my overwhelming desire to punch it in the face (not because that's all that's there, but more because I simply want to punch something in the face).

Sleep is the madman's dream, his only fix. I miss it all. I wake up sick and coughing and wonder if the drugs coursing through my veins will keep me going for one more day or drop me dead where I stand. I really should have been there, and now I can't (or won't?).

Things have changed. Dear God, they've changed.

I miss the humidity, the sweat on your forehead from a hard day's work of simply sitting in the shade. I miss the drives to nowhere that always ended somewhere (probably a Waffle House). We had friends and family, and now we don't know how to hang on to either. I really should have been there.

And why now, of all times?

I need some sleep. I need some peace.

"If I don't get some shelter, oh yeah, I'm gonna fade away."

I've gotten ahead...finally. But I feel years slipping off my life, and I wonder if I can make it another two.

This was a mistake.