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,
statistics,
paracetamol,
naproxen,
morphine,
fentanyl,
“therapy” – radio radio radio
chemo chemo chemo
clinical trials.
Spread.
Spread.
Spread.
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.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: