At times..

At times life moves more quickly than we can imagine and at times it seems to move more slowly than possible. Though more often than not, time seems to move like water for me these days. So much.. To much.. Has happened as of late for me to even begin to record. As I progress with this Parkisons disease and my body fades away, a once stout tank of a man now cold, alone and affraid of what the future brings.

Though oddly enough, I refuse to give up hope on some small piece of normal again. A tiny home, a tiny yard to tend tiny veggies and tiny flowers as my strength,sight and wisdom fail. A small piece of “Safe” enwhich to paint and write my last years away.

Tonight I write from a place of pain. Not of heart, mind or soul but of body.. As this demon chews threw my skin devouring me slowly from the inside. Muscles amd mind weaken as the signals fade Into the darkness turning chocolate euphoria into panic attacks and tendons into bound cords of liquid electric fire leaking from every nerve always and forever relentlessly ripping at the very bones they serve to embrace.

Sounds dramatic and I wish I was poetically over stating. Thus sadly I admit that I may be grossly understating some of these things as to not worry or disheaerten you furthermore

B

At times all I can do is wake in this body, wave and smile. Find a flower to flirt with as my boxes get smaller. Table for one please. At times the art of dying can be a lonely place to be..

At times.

B-2018

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