Nine-Four

11/15 Threw some random scraps of words laying around into something that fit.

If I'm not sick I'll die.
Burned out on life again
         for the last time...
it's not a reunion
if you never left it behind.
In the first place
         I
have always felt like this,
implying more...
         to come;
         to go.

We all get sick sometimes,
or is it this
         illusion
of life pulling us under?
I don't want to breathe.
Why start now?
When my infancy deficiency
         is catching up to me?
If I knew how I would have
         long before
         I knew it could have
         been.
We all know what we think we know
until we need to know.

If I'm not sick I'll die.
I tried.
I'm alive.
Up to at least a hundred reps a day.
         Milligrams and
         occupants and
         everything unsustainable.
Get me out of my way.
Estimated. Eliminated.
Too far to keep going. And
         too far to go back.
If only almost were enough.