Journal 5- Eckhardt



Taunted by remorse, my

shoulders tense when the

doctor calls my name.


She talks, she talks, she talks,

But nothing makes sense.

Not anymore, at least.


A simple, yet delicate process

with a 99.5% survival rate.


I will survive only to endure

constant pain, agony, and regret

for who knows how long.


A PhD told me a couple years,

but he told me forever.


What do we do with a problem

so unfixable?

A biblical blessing takes a turn for

the worse.


A crisis, but we’re the only ones

to blame.

It wasn’t worth it.


I ask myself if I did the right

thing, But the response is

weighing down my soul.

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