"How Long?"

At 5 p.m. I had a seizure, the ache settles into my bones.

I am determined to fight it's numbing effect on my brain.

I don't really care about my body, it's my mind that I treasure most.

That unique quality that sets us apart from one another.

The hours pass and I grow weary, but keep my hands busy,

over-riding the heavy fog that tries to settle around me.

11 p. m. and I go to bed with "Good night" and "I love you."

Inside dreading the crawling movement of time that surrounds me.

Only I am awake and the rest of the world slumbers, breathing

deeply with the slow rise and fall of the chest.

I moan out loud, not realizing that my pain has surfaced

wanting to make itself known.

I wake the dead, gulping both water and pill.

Rolling away, I silently shed tears of self pity,

loathing my inability to endure the cup I am given.

Sleep never comes and my eyes watch the dim light

that slowly seeps through the cracks of the window.

I rise to begin yet another day,

unrested

and even more weary

than the day before.

How long?