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This was written some considerable time before diagnosis but sums up how I felt at the time.
The roof needs attention, the loft space is damp
My head looks fine, the brain vandalised by fog
The walls have cracks the paint is peeling
My skin looks fine, underneath a thousand insects crawl
The building leans subsiding slightly
I teeter swaying this way and that
The house feels cold, empty, unkempt
wires dangling free unconnected
Do I feel cold or hot, I am undecided
Nerves interrupted, pulsating incorrect messages
Brought back by caring builders, never as good as new but designed for today
Brought back by the caring profession, never as good as before but as good as can be.
We both enjoy being loved.
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