My mother's flowers sit dead on a table in a space that is a dinning room for another life. Another person Living a life. The flowers have sat there since May unable to move or be adjusted, stagnant in space and time just a lingering joke of what life was and is. Death all around and money eating up energy and time the toil taking toil after toil. People's lives worth living, worth dying, worth loss. Worthless in a world measuring worth.
The dog harness sits empty in the exact place it has lived vacant of life since October. Only remnants of memories remain of the friend that only loved me. The devotion gone. The personality erased. The dreams of change and hope for adventure imagined something eerie and nauseous. Time now measured by coffee made, poured, ground into fragments of reality.
My balance faltering. My mind blurry and and fogged with genetic faults. My inability to find joy or loose joy or have a concept of joy, all while demanding joy from others. The jesters of life all around trying and hoping and loving to spread the the sweet ignorance of contentment. How much? How much do we need? What is need in a world with only cares of productivity.
Accepting failure creates growth while knowing the darkness of defeat should make you stronger. Stronger for what? Stronger for whom? Not willing or having energy to be stronger. Every moment an intense concentration to look and feel like I once did. The draining fatigue of the understanding that my mind and body are betraying me. I know the exterior of the disease. The false movements, the irrational displays of the mind, the need to laugh at odd times. To know the inner workings in my own body while hiding the reality in plain sight of others is a failure. I don't want to make them sad. This my lot, my false battle into the downward display of incompetence. My long stride into the forgotten woods where I will decay and be no longer. No flowers left on an unlived table in a soundless room no loss of personality or adventures imagined just sweet nothingness.
