Survivor of Covid-19
Its april twenty sixth, two thousand and twenty
and
everything
feels like honey.
The aroma is thick and feels sticky.
I want to believe that honey is sweet and pure,
but that wouldnt be entirely true.
For honey is processed
the same as me and you.
The times are heavy for everyone and it starting to feel
like the madness has just begun.
That wouldnt be true would it though.
We've been running mad for a while now
and it is starting to blend like chow from a mad cow.
Nothing is what it seems and one has to find happiness in misery.
My nerves are running a mile a minute and all I can do is sit here with it.
The hope is endless and my faith is fearless, but everything feels funny.
Funny like raw honey from a bee that has a disease.
I'm sticky and and the air is thick.
How can one survive through it
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