the day before.

 so... that is the cause of these medicines, in their entirety. to draw out the time, sweet time, until the lungs fail. 
in these great masters' minds, they will fail, eventually. 5 years, 10 years. 
visits to the thorasic surgeon always dane on the chip of a bone hairpin, but they haven't destroyed me.

my fruitful grapes, stemming from strong vine, somewhat withered. what is withered in human flesh cannot be brought back again.

(no subject)

odd, vivid dream about being demented/fluish, psychosis. being found in the bathroom, wandering aimlessly, confused. the world swirled in van gogh's style.

then, i found myself in a white coat's control, a knee on the back while placed crouched. panic, struggling... couldn't breathe!

vivid.

 

i was wakened struggling out of the dream by the morning fasting blood draws.