I have a sword, a bow, a knife
A vantage point up high
In front, behind, and at each hand
A different foe draws nigh.

If I could know just what to do,
I think I'd hold them back.
But I've no skill or training
And no plan for attack.

Each villain huddles nearer still
And I don't have a clue
On how to load my mighty bow
Or what a blow would do

I shake and gasp, I can't fight back
my untrained arms are weak
The courage and the strength I lack,
So Your help I now seek.

Refresh my mind, give me a goal
And guide my drying bones.
I need a plan, I need a job.
I can't survive alone.

The uncomfortable triumph that comes from being brave enough to admit that you're scared

Magazines, newspapers, letters strewn across
every table.
Flowerpots, paperweights, nick-knacks atop
every remaining empty surface.
"Tacky" was the word that first came to mind.
Ledges, counters, and all but one chair are drowned in the mess.
The last chair is the womans.  She used to keep a few other chairs vacant in case of company, but
as she continued to grow slower she couldn't make the effort

and an extra chair was never needed anyway.

Sometimes a voice in your head will tell you that you are a disappointment.  Look that thing in the eye and say, "You're a disappointment!"

Then realize that you are still shouting negative things at yourself in the mirror.  Second thought, don't.  Please don't take advice like this from me.

why must time progress??
i need to take a rest
each falt'ring sentence brings
me closer to my death