You scratch for hope, at best, in a moment, and when that hope in its reality stares back at you you flee in fear. Because the hope is what saves over the flat, mathematical roll of bio medical anti-factual, course, cold reality. I wait for a cure as i wait for time. Waiting for what I had, and could have.
After all, why does one change the hell that makes them. Like a prisoner set free they are lost. Shades cant color any new reality after war.
Yet now paralyzed by hope, fearing of freedom staged before me is another purported cure, bottled hope, in its round pharmaceutically compounded bottle.
I present in my disbelief and dismay at reality, presenting with another attempt at a cure for a largely incurable disease.
After all, why does one change the hell that makes them. Like a prisoner set free they are lost. Shades cant color any new reality after war.
Yet now paralyzed by hope, fearing of freedom staged before me is another purported cure, bottled hope, in its round pharmaceutically compounded bottle.
I present in my disbelief and dismay at reality, presenting with another attempt at a cure for a largely incurable disease.
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