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.
