Have you been so sick for so many years, that you lack the will to go on?
They say health is the most important thing, cheerfully they pronounce it, to inspire their gratefulness,
to wash away their great unhappiness.
But you don't have health.
You don't have well.
They say friends too, they are better than career you know.
Career, it went, but friends you have.
You have friends you rarely see,
friends you hold on to, but always fob off.
You love them from your couch, but it isnt enough.
You don't cook for them, ever, and you're always writing to say
'less than an hour, but I love you ok'.
I'd love you better if I could.
My mind loves you. I swear.
They say happiness inside, that's up there too.
Peace for the ride.
And you have that one. But with essense of sad.
You want it unconditionally.
In the sore, crawling, lonely, drought.
But it morphed into sad, behind your back, so now you feel bad.
That you're sad.
Sick bad, and then guilt bad.
And lonely bad, and too-long bad,
And hermit, outcast, worthless, cold,
too-much, and can't-go-on bad.
Till the sun pops out.
It kisses you and hugs you and shouts:
It's a beautiful day to be alive.
You have alive!
And alive is meant to be here,
and meant to be here is purpose,
and purpose is go on.