COPD

Every day the same thing
Heavy body I pray for hydration and weight, gravity.
Body is dead. It is dead. Will it ever revive?

I lose hope

I lose hope when I feel like my condition makes me nothing in your eyes. It blunts my testament. 

They held a parade down south on the day I was born. It makes me happy to think of Panda. Perhaps I can keep going without him but I think my soul has died. I still have pink teddy and Neen and tiny. And my floppy elephant.

How can I wrench my way out of this? I know I shouldn’t use my phone too much. Urgh the exhaustion

How can I get through this. Operation Superior Will. Just write and write and write and write. Write stream of consciousness write whatever. I came up with a tune earlier

Nobody believes me

COPD ingratitude

Darker than bleak

Nobody knows any better

They call us hasty