Waiting to Die

I have a terminal disease. It is called "Life."
Better put, "Life without Purpose."

With no young to care for, the hope that progeny creates does not exist for me.
Existence absent purpose is not an existence worth living.

And so I wait.
My sister gone. (age 31)
One of my closest friends gone. (age 41)
Both leave behind life that needed them.

A daughter without a mother.
Sons without a mother.
It is senseless, or at the very least, incomprehensible.

And yet I muddle on.
Poisoned mind.
Poisoned body.
Still holding onto life.

But a life without value.
A life without purpose.
Nothing (back) to hold onto.
Nothing (forward) to hope for.

I wish the end would come for me.
I wish it would be soon.
But soon is not soon enough.
Skin falling off more rapidly now.
Joints again refusing to move.
Pain in head.

My joys? Tied to the make believe.
Tied to sensory delights limited (mostly) to eating.
Why won't the end come?
Suffering needlessly.

To what end?
Better to be memorialized as people's opinions seem to improve.
The reality is forgotten.
Let it be soon.