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I used to be a beautiful garden

I used to be a beautiful garden, with flowers of all colors and kinds. I wasn’t cautious with my precious flowers, fallen ill or freely given, few were left behind. Now I have scant flowers to boast, and certainly none to spare. Though they’re few, I comfort myself,  by guarding them closely all hours I dare. Only to find my flowers die in suffocation and I may be altogether too late; For, while a garden can grow again from seeds, I can only sow from that which I create. 4.1.25
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Saved.

I want to be saved. Badly.  More than I want nearly anything else.  To put these problems, this pain.  Into the hands of another. There is no one coming.  Fighting simply takes too much to keep doing it every day like this. 
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Tomorrow.

I had a bad day, except I didn't. I've had a bad life, except I haven't.  Nothing went wrong with me, nothing went wrong with my day or my life.  So why do I feel so desolate and hopeless? Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day. It's so hard to try, to hold on. I've spent years narrowly avoiding an early grave.  Finding clever workarounds, quick fixes.  It's all so pointless,  fighting to see the light of another day just like this one, and the next one, and the next one.  It's always tomorrow . Tomorrow I'll change, I'll start looking, start fixing.  It's never tomorrow . These promises, they're impulses.  Changeable. 
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