Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god
Syndrome
The fever is deep within my marrow.
I utter curses that falter in the wind.
My voice is weak, my gasps are a
Cry for help that go unnoticed.
They throw me away like rotten goods,
I sit in the trash and await proper disposal.
The pain is like a heart attack, I grasp
My chest and wait for a death that
Looms nearby, a death that hangs out
In the hallways and waits for me to
Give up, rather than taking me now.
I yearn forit to take my hand and lead
Me from this hell, alas, it stands me up again.
I wait, I weep, I'm stuck with nowhere to go.
10-2-08
I utter curses that falter in the wind.
My voice is weak, my gasps are a
Cry for help that go unnoticed.
They throw me away like rotten goods,
I sit in the trash and await proper disposal.
The pain is like a heart attack, I grasp
My chest and wait for a death that
Looms nearby, a death that hangs out
In the hallways and waits for me to
Give up, rather than taking me now.
I yearn forit to take my hand and lead
Me from this hell, alas, it stands me up again.
I wait, I weep, I'm stuck with nowhere to go.
10-2-08
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Syndrome
Syndrome
