All I ever wanted was for someone to listen
I wanted someone to pay attention
To tell me things would get better
And that happiness would last forever
I wanted someone to give me advice
All about my life to notice
I wanted someone to understand
To support and lend me a hand
I wanted someone who'd never leave me alone
To know me from deep inside my bone
I wanted someone to love me
As far as the end of the galaxy
I wanted someone to treat me with respect
To make me feel a little perfect
I wanted someone to make me feel special
And to not make my life seem so small
I wanted someone to wipe away all of my tears
Helping me get over my fears
I wanted someone to be my friend
To always bring my misery to an end

In the pursuit of happiness
I found you,  but somewhere I lost me
You set my heart on fire
You set my dreams free
I loved our little chatter
I loved your every little thing
But now that I look back
It all just leaves a sting

I never realized when you drifted apart
I still kept holding onto the string
You crushed my little heart
And all I could do was sing

Sang the songs of my pain  
Sang the songs of my screams
I never knew it was all in vain
It was all just a broken dream

A drunken god has
spoke you into existence
A stolen diary that told you,
it’s a sin to return this body
even if its weak bones
couldn’t carry the weight
of your heavy heart

I know I can speak myself out of it
With a blade in my hand
standing on the edge of the stage,
I’ll wait for the Almighty to sober up
and watch me steal his role

After twenty years of rehearsal
I’ll play god,
lights will go off,
and curtains will close

Your followers will clap in awe
at my convincing performance

As I bow before them
As I fall before you

You threw me to the snakes
leaving me to fend for myself,
discarding me like an object that
you had grown bored of.
And,
when i crawled out from the pit
more powerful than before,
venom coursing through my veins ,
I became the monster.
I became the one to be feared.

How easy it is to forget that monsters are not born
but made
and my dear,
you are responsible for every inch of the creature I have become.

you might not
have been my first love
but you were the one
who hurt the most.

“Are you okay?”,
my wife asks
when I cough.

“No. I’m fine.
Yes. I’m not”,
I respond,

stumping her
in the poetic irony
of words that

encompass the
yes and no
and the in between.

She flips the finger
at me and I return
the bird to the nest.

We go back to our life
and our tablets,
the drip, drip of my chemo
and I wonder about okay.

“No.  You’re fine.
Yes. You’re not.”,
the bag stares in response.