My sleep is very unstuck disjointed. My diet the same.

I eat too much then too little. I read to no benefit.

The words do not enter do not speak.

The silly plans for hobbies come to nothing. Danger is all around.

How many personal dead am I aware of? 

Two with my eyes four by conversation with neighbors.

Yet the reality refuses to be real.

Sorry, but I am confused, and distraught.

I fear for family, and friends.

Even now for myself.

I think on that. I may never leave these rooms alive.

These walls are the last of the world I will know.

Not fear,...just a kind of poetry.

Did my late brother think this when he went into battle.

This during the Vietnam War.

A war now so long ago kids don't even know it happen.

Have no notion of any of it.

Or the extreme chaos it caused there, and there.

Did he think, "...these are my last minutes." 

"I will never leave this jungle."

He did, and I may leave these walls.

'But this does not change anything.

Not for him nor me.

It changes nothing of what we now experience.

Live or die this is where we are. This is who we are.

Static bullshit, and noise.

Death is a friend.