5am 26th April 2019

In the witching hour
when all is dark
and still
I come to believe
my heart is a pin cushion.

The pins are X-rays,
doctors’ words,
nurses’ faces full of pity,
MacMillan leaflets,
“therapy” – radio radio radio
chemo chemo chemo
clinical trials.
They should have should have should have found it earlier.
My fault my fault my fault.
Why didn’t I know more?
If only time travel was possible.

Each pin pierces a hole.
I stand in a pool of blood
with a broken heart
and overcompensating
brave face.

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