COLD AND ALONE

Ain't That The Truth

I can't help but feel like one of those tormented writers, hidden alone, in an isolated, cold, dark cabin in the woods, determined to work on his work, because that's all he has left, and that's all, he'll ever, have...

...and that's perfectly find by me,
solitude,
is salvageable. 

, and as my mom lay dying in a hospital,
after the ghostly pale-stale aura of eternal abandonment, my circle of life feels like a ghost town.

, and as I stop into my moms hospital bed, I quickly leave to head home to catch my breath, I wonder if her ghost, screamed, "please don't go", as I now gather whatever mustering of strength I can absorb from the nothingness of my existence, for one final battle to heal my mom, before I crash land into the reality of hopelessness, called, 'my bed'.

...and you know what this is leading to,

, wondering how ?...SHE...? could abandon me?

not my mother,
my mother is still here,
that overwhelming feeling that my mom can not let go of being here, 
she does not want to leave her children behind,
till she knows they are SAFE

she does not deserve this suffering,
or this burden of life,

as I angrily yell at "Jesus",
because of how much my mom loves,
and believes in him.

I believe he is POSSIBLE,
if he healed her,
I'd spread his name,
and this story across the land,
I have the power to do so.

but as you see,
I am cold,
and alone.

?????