Musing number 4

Inside the vase is hollow

To stand is cynical.

One hundred beatings every minute; Pulses the brain as twice as I breathe.

I do not ask of anyone to save me.

Know that I'm dying.

With every minute I stand,

I fall.

Words are edema.

Empathy is useless without healing.

Traditional medicine I've learned has immuned me,

Or I've abused it to the point of numbing.

I look for it.

It.

What is it?

Why am I still standing?

Why are You hiding Your face from me?

Or am I who does this to myself?

What did I do?

I've obeyed the rules; I pleased too many people.

Except me.

Until when.

Time falls, the solutions follow. Or so I think.

I said I dive to darkness

And you permitted.

Where is the light.

Light.

Lumiere.

I was.

And will always be.

To some.

But never for me.