i am hollowed bones that are completely pervaded with disease that causes them to be heavy. i've managed to drag my slowly decaying mind and my rotting body out of bed every afternoon but i feel like i'm languishing in some form of purgatory where i died a thousand years ago but my heart, although ridden with misery, is still beating and i've spent an eternity on hands and knees in some attempt to reduce the agony i am in. my suffering seems to imbue some sense of gratitude into those who surround me, for they are lucky they are not a walking corpse with a soul, aren't they?