Cure Over Kill

If all the faces are smiling, how would anyone be able to tell a genuine one from the next. No one can notice and I carry the troubles and reality of my own diseases to myself. Medication doesn’t hold up anymore and you can’t cure these problems The medicine kills me and I feel its side effects embracing me Somnolence, dizziness, vertigo, nervousness, ataxia, amnesia, anxiety, emotional lability, hostility, paresthesia, suicidal depression, irritability, mood swings, fatigue, infection, and pain They all begin to embody me as only part of the possible side effects I’m sick and tired of being on this medicine I want to be strong enough to say forget it and stop letting it take me over I shouldn’t have to be dealing with this instability of my health so early on in my life Adventures become restricted and limited because of it Can I take this arbitrary way of life one more second? No. So I write because I can control the words. I can control the readers feelings. I can have a better hold in understanding my own. I make blissful words turn into angels floating in the thoughts of skys. It cures me, while the so called science kills me. I write because of grand mal, cronic tonic seizures. I write for epilepsy.