lost child, lonely child
I hardly ever talk to others about my feelings. Years ago, I learned that people simply don’t care. I saw how the plaguing hypocrisy of others poisoned me to brink of suicide and has made me cynical since. Hence I don’t tell others how I feel other than my three sons. I only talk to them when or if they’re willing to listen.
This is why I write about my feelings and what makes me a writer wishing someone to stop for a split second to read my black-humor, satires and rants — not much to be enchanted, yet merely morbidly horrified, at times. As such, I’ll open up for a split second hoping to catch someone’s attention for this brief interruption within the fabric of space-time.
The most difficult cross I’ve ever had to bear has been seeing my second son sick and not being able to help him. I’ve lost my son to disease. Meanwhile, modern (western) medicine’s limited, but so-called experts continue to fall short in knowledge and their Hippocratic Oath rejecting to see my son. Maybe they’re afraid to admit their ignorance or brace their stupidity.
I drag a heavy cross, my second son tied to a cross he never had a chance to chose. Yet this is the cross I bear every day while social ignorance turns the blind eye. It only emphasizes my lack of trust and faith in humanity — a vile species that forever enjoys its false sense of reality.
Guu vian falsan senton de realeco dum gi dauras!