angelicarising

My grandfather sits in a wheelchair by the window in the old people's home with his chin leaned into his chest, mumbling incessantly and unintelligibly to himself and drooling a little from the right corner of his mouth. Mom can't come here anymore. She just breaks down at the sight of him so I sometimes come by myself and sit with him in silence for a while. It's a sad end to a long and hard life, and I morbidly think to myself that if a political party stepped forth now with the legalization of euthanasia on its agenda, I'd vote for it. After two strokes and a hemorrhage, topped with severe senile dementia, what is the point of letting peo

There are many differences, Between the two of us. These feelings remain the same. As tour love fades and hearts break, Tears of our fears are shed. We attach to the strong Broken by the weak, Neither of us knew differently. Those quiet thoughts remain unshared, Unspoken and untold. The silence murdered us, In the end. And now as these feelings pile together, The few questions arise a As we beg for answers: Why me? Why us? How long will I have to do this? Keep this charade? Will anybody care? Does anyone care? How long will I hold on to this, Alone? The ugly thoughts deepen inside, As the truth arises these scars begi

Y'all have any idea how downright frustrating it is to be the granddaughter of one of the most powerful and celebrated superheroes ever — Ulysses Randall Martin, the iconic Mr. Uranium — and yet have no special talent of your own? I mean, it's not like I don't have my own elemental superpower: like almost all of Grandpa's progeny, I do. But how much good is the ability to produce hard-hitting Alpha and destructive Beta rays if you can barely control it and never quite turn it off? At least I'm not as bad off as my son Frankie; I love him to death, but when left alone the poor boy is totally unstable and downright dangerous: the wor