Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The Story Can't End Yet

I claimed cancer when I was sick;

Perhaps
because in my state of mind
there was no other
explanation

(This must be what cancer feels like.)

for all the
frustration.

(Mental clutter in my mind.)

I was just a
floating blob
of contagious cancer.

Everywhere I went
I made you
sick of me too.

"Are you sick of me yet? "

My cancerous thoughts
spoke to me in a
deep and daunting whisper.

"You know?"
"You can give up at any moment."
"Are you done yet? "

Those thoughts that snake their way in
don't see the two different people
living inside of me;

an imp on one shoulder,
an angel on the other.

They only seek to kill my spirit.

"You're right-"
So I admit defeat;

"I don't have to take this anymore."

instead of giving up and giving in
to the so called inevitable-

I kept going until I was
tired, calloused and empty inside.

Of course I could have just given up,
but there's got to be
something more
at the end of this sentence.