Until My Agains Run Out

Wierd morning

A demon dances at the foot of my bed

To angels singing over my head,

And banshees screaming out in the yard.

The sickness is easy, but the medicine's hard.

 

Good and evil that I can touch;

A crutch and a baseball bat thumping

Knee caps, as I ponder this wondering sense:

A wince, a chill and then a warm wave of liquid relief.

 

F*****g thieves! Get them out of my mind! I am too tired.

Uninspired for long periods with sporadic spurts

Of life between knifes and needles and nurses.

Curses! I want to burst out of this droopy cage

 

And rage!

Rage!

Rage!

 

Let's have another tune, another dance,

Another chance to be the warrior

Instead of the battleground.

I have found it all here.

Then it left.

 

I hope it comes back before the next chemical

haze.

 

The phrases choke the cancer,

And I like to watch it die.

 

When the angels stop singing,

Demons stop their dancing

and banshees find rest . . .

I will be me again

And again. . .

Until my agains run out.

 

Then a warm wave of liquid relief.

Reviews

[Emily B]

You have other battles to fight. After this one. And you'll get there. I have no doubt. I have no doubt.

To brighter days when you are no longer the battleground :)