Stress killed me, it killed my mother. She maintains that still.
Her illness couldn't of helped, the worry it must have caused:
a life because of that, is not only a burden for
My father, but also a massive issue for me; not discounting sibling
s of things past, gloat at my dysfunctional
Although, nothing is attained or released without prejudice
Is this wicked sophistry
I'm in ignorance of
Or just the tests that time presents?
Because of these problems, I find that kindness and generosity
Seem emotions with which I'm at most, ambivalent
Token gestures, shallow movements, symbolise my outward self.
It's natural, in these cases
, to realise that not only am I
The creator of this destruction
; but also its designer.