Intimate togetherness

My heart is hammering there in terror; like a sneaky, alamusian little worm the ghost of a heart attack. The unnatural ending of Being, sudden Death. Long since seen better days, the shipwrecked ki I'm circling back and forth, hunting for itself an old familiar wave of molecules pumping in and out of enriched cell bodies, and perhaps even daring to hope to solve the problem with a wave of the hand.

All cardiovascular shock or modern-trendy physiotherapy was considered invalid and untrue. Time-outs in front of the loser cannot be deliberately extended. Like a punctured artery, or one about to blow itself up, I was forced to lie, to waste away on the prison floor of my room.

My body a runny mass of fat, double encased in floating rubber bands. I resigned myself to doing fifty sit-ups a day, secretly hoping that perhaps all my wasted effort had not been in vain. I was already blowing the medical whistle: hypochondriacism can have plenty of degenerate, serious symptoms. So I had to take myself more seriously, and be of service.

I wonder how much wasted Time I have left to express the time to come? And I wonder in whom I have trusted, once with an oath of loyalty, sacrificing perhaps my best years, will they be kind and gracious to me, and may we have a talk before the last journey? - It was as if those who came in with their families looked down on each other a little. My childish sense of defeat struck me down, surrounded me: not for long, for the time bomb of my heart threatens to explode!