The Thin Barrier of a Wavering Existence
The sick and the wounded keep crashing thru the thin barrier of my wavering existence. The crazed and deranged and insatiable. Those in need of someone to hold their crutches while they pray for a miracle. Those in need of constant assurance that yes indeed, here they are with both feet planted firmly on the ground, they’re not ghosts after all or vague shadows in a fog-filled night.
Of course they’re oblivious to the intrusion and full of mindless good cheer, and with something like Christmas backing them up, they come in droves and go straight for the jugular.