It's solid in the bones now, and with the tumours I can barely walk. Dog's are learning to do their business off leash, while I lean on a tree-stump.
And at night, the bones are the worst...something I was told to expect. Sleep's overrated.
Sometimes, I am tempted to pray for release. It's wrong (and I'm not suicidal), but what was never close to a wish hovers around the edge of my mind.
I hobble where I once was swift
and do know what this doth portend;
forgive me if I pray for lift
past the things that are to come,
past this long and aching fate,
pray you take me, make me young
again, to walk through Heaven's Gate.
I know that I need more resolve,
and asking this, hang head in shame,
but shame does not weakness absolve,
so make me fit to play this game
as long as I still walk this earth
until my day of full re-birth.