Poetry

there we go. 
another day at the hospital.
same walls.  same smell. same faces. 
same sh— all over again.

the art that looked mesmerizing now 
looks like an old boring friend, 
bringing both comfort and anxiety
 to your world.

another day at the hospital. 
it’s all it takes to be able 
to walk, feel, touch, eat, sense, speak, breathe, and everything inbetween.

if you’d had told me a decade ago, 
that hospital treatments will rule my life at only 36…..

— I miss my poetry. 

☁️✒️

A magazine filled with (onchain) poetry. A fund to support poets.

thank you 🤍 
100000% autobiographical. You know where I am when silence kicks in :(

Oh, dear poet. Happy to see a post by you, but sad to know that this is probably very autobiographical.

Sending love.

100 $degen