I Cannot Sleep

I cannot sleep. There is no more chicken noodle soup. My breathing treatment worked two seconds. I am carrying around an aqua gallon bucket for a spit cup and it is slopping over. Not of anything clear, but of the vile, ugly green salty excretions That I have been coughing up with the help of my barely working lungs Who gave up two weeks ago, willing to shut us down. Last night I tried to make a deal with God. I told Him, “either kill me tonight or let me live but without this crud.” God either did not listen or did not care, because I jumped out of my Fourth lazy, warm water bath today, after watching our black escapade mouse float by on the only bar of green soap, the one I had been looking for the whole time. Relaxing? Sure. Until that second I started to reach for the soap, but then realized If I did, the mouse was going to land on my chest and frankly I have been through enough. I cannot sleep. There is no lying down, for even a sleeping pill has no effect whatsoever. I have probably taken too many of them; I am bringing them home in the 40 gallon bags now. So here I am, not planning anything but death which did not happen, making me extremely angry. What good is a prayer if no one answers it? What good is being here if you are this miserable? I am not in the best of moods. So will not be commenting on anyone’s poetry today. Be grateful!