Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Full Of It

Tomorrow.

Let him fix me or let me sit in a chair. I can’t keep up the propel. I don’t have the fuel of fortitude.

Staccatoed survival. Bed rests for spurts of purposeful.

Hyperbole. That’s been my branded. Full of it.

I’ve always been full: full of life, hope, love, sorrow, joy, fear, longing.

Now I’m filled with a new it: unpumped blood.

Irony?

A heart that won’t empty.