chronic

I have flicked through the last nine years bent doubled; through a dank haze of migraine, marijuana and the fallout of lost love, I watched with a child's eyes as pain came and went across her face; my care was a long cruelty she held none of her own time. He drank us both down the drain, now my burdens seem heavy - I once knew who to be; it's gone that sureness of smart children who state their future so boldly. I am ill and want to die it is more an identity than two old sicknesses - me.