Caught Between Death and Empathy



This is actually a journal entry, the beginning is an echo of my fear of the medical complications of type one diabetes, (For more information on the disease: at a cross section between my anxiety over being kept in the dorm room with some falling friends during 2014.

There’s too much of it. I want to live dammit, let me live. Don’t keep me locked in your grasp. More cage than arms, more entrapping than adoring, let me free. The sun shines, raise the blinds and see it. The world is full of many multitudes of beauty. Just get outside and see it. Take a step outside of paradigm and experience all that makes you Human.


If writing  from a first hand experience about diabetes is something that interests you, please comment below, and I’ll look in my goody bag and in the following days I will publish several posts on the subject.

What it’s like

For when we murder
We always keep it in the family
For friend, foe, or stranger we are all children of nature
Laying on the street side
I’ve been there too
Stiff with rigor mortis, crippled with rigor mortis
Left by a passive, inconsequential, negligent hand
I’ve bled, and have been carelessly thrown to the shoulder

The storm drains are more of my blood than they are rain
Rubbed into the pavement
a gritty slushy paste
Blood clots, and tangled nests of hair
The ones too focused on the mirror
To look back
They are the night drivers in my life too
Weary eyes
Careless flash of phone screen
And murderous trivialities
Rushing to dinner parties,
And horny house cats
Legs stretched out on the patio
Howling at the moon.

Surely someday
That domestic beauty
Will know just as well as the rest of us
What it’s like to be road kill.