Jail of sickness

i have been stuck inside for three days, sick. i feel like a deadbeat father because my son has been wanting to play all day and i just laid around like a sick dog; except, instead of a sick dog i'm a sick dad. but as it always goes, i felt better at the end of the day; it always seems as though no matter how sick you are, the morning is always the worst and by nightfall, you feel like you were never sick.

now, at this point, it's night fall and i feel great. now that i have laid around for almost four days strait, i feel i wasted almost a whole week of days. sitting around for such a long time i had a lot of time to think. i remember when i was younger i was always journaling and writing and drawing and blogging (if live journal is considered a blog) and lately i have done nothing to escape.

A friend of a friend

death is an unforgivable and unrepentant thief.  
taking from us that which we hold the most dear.  
that which there is no insurance for.  
no guarantee of.  
and no recovery from.
people use the phrase 'lost a loved one' and i hate that.  
i didn't misplace her.
i didn't set her on a shelf for later, then forget her whereabouts.
i did not lose her.
she was taken from me with violent finality and inarguable force.
i couldn't say no.
i couldn't resist.
it was as if i had never been smaller.  
my voice had never been more quiet.  the harder i screamed and raged and wailed against the unfairness of this horrific theft the less it was heard.
she was wrenched from my helpless fingers.
thrown from my view.
and i was left
alone
drenched in sweat and tears
longing to be the one found
DEAD ON THE SCENE
wishing this unspeakable suffering on someone else.
not her.
not her.
not her.