There's nowhere else to go from here. I guess I look on the bright side because there's always someone more worse off, like the body they dragged out of the room next to me. I asked a girl if she was ok and she nodded, with tears in her eyes and sort of choked out while gestering towards the loaded stretcher "It's my mom."

She said "thank you" because I asked her how she was.

And the man I watched on the other side of the hall twitching in agony in his own world from what was probably a drug overdose. They're worse off.

Those were quick killers, the car accident; the shooting up. You didn't see the other car coming and you ignored the warnings for the drugs. Nine times out of ten, I bet you, he'll go back to them.

My killer's silent, too, but not so much anymore, and I wonder why it takes its precious time. It catches me around the corners when I'm pretending it doesn't exist. It reminds me: "Hello. There's a limit on your time. You can't run like the others. Or walk uphill."

But the X-ray came back fine, as always. And the EKG, as always. And the pressure was slightly elevated, the pulse was fine, the oxygen count was fine. But I wasn't fine. And there's still no clue of a reason but for the symptom: high pressure and a knife in the middle of my chest running up and down my arm from my finger tips, to my elbow, to my shoulder, to my neck and into my chest.

They told me I was too young. That's always what it's been. I fucking hate hospitals. They don't tell me the answer. Silence is worse than a verdict at this point because it leaves me sinkning in the timeline. Fuck it. This life is all I have. Won't you just let me live it?