The pain has become regular.
People know what to expect when they talk to me.
"I'm hurting."
"I need to rest."
"I'm going home."

The questions they ask me have become monotonous.
I have the story of my illness down to a tee.
"I've tried that."
"No, it never goes away."
"It's been about eight months now."

The doctors know all about me.
Out of the hundreds of patients they treat, I stand out.
"My pain is at an 8."
"I'm on my way to the hospital."
"My I.V. fluids need to be changed."

I'm used to spewing lies from my mouth.
It's become quite easy over the months.
"I'm fine."
"I feel a little better."
"I'll get well soon."

The saddest song I've ever heard
the lyrics of Miss Mockingbird
her pain it rails aloud in verse
who doomed her to this bitter curse?
her words they soothe, yet tear my heart
as love lies bleeding, torn apart.
I sent a message, just to see
If at her mercy I could be
in friendship fair across the miles
joined in pain and lovelorn smiles
this siren I have never known
with knowing smile and broken bones
replied with grace at once to this
and left me with an angels kiss.