She rises at dawn, chilled
by the lost embrace
of her sleeping pills, brushes

summer's blown ashes
with the shuffle of footsteps
on old stone floors.

She thaws her hands
around a coffee cup,
sits at her desk,

 ******* Ariel             arrowed from
 yesterday's tide           hoof-printing  
ocean waves                 jetting barnacles
telephone wires            a man's black boot

routing them through
cold English mornings,
a gold Sheaffer pen.

Words seep
across the page,
trail toxins of grief.

Light edges
between churchyard yews,
fingertips the curtains.

A thumb's worth
of breast-milk
stains her nightgown.

It's like an addiction
that keeps on recurring
once you've left
you just keep on returning

The pain is so sublime
    it is like a piece of fabric torn.
Morphine is the prescription
    that is promised as relief.
I have a better healer,
a celestial figure of appeal.

Hail Holy Mother, Queen of Heaven,
      I submit myself to you.
      The pain increases,
      the pain increases.
      It keeps me awake at night.
I appeal to you, most Holy,
      please comfort me.
Mother of God,
      may my thoughts
        dwell always on you.
Sweet ******,
may my words reflect my truth
I'm lonely and alone on this
       frustrating destination.
Crawling reluctantly,
       towards the conclusion.
Afraid and disheartened.
       Alone but for You.

You lead me to your Son.
You bring me to Him.

Mumbled thinking of
      fragmented living drowns
       out living as a real person.
Collecting stones of agony
      that batters the walls of
        resistance. It destroys
        what it can not heal.

Thank you God.
Thank you for hope.

That is all I cling to.
Mary, precious Mary,
cloak me in your mantle
of promised protection.

Hail Mary,
      Hail Mary,
        Hail Mary.

Deep breath in, smooth breath out. It'll stop burning. It has to. It can't burn the whole time right? Treatment 1 was a success? The boy across from me is staring. His hair is gone. Please God. This isn't happening. Not to me. Not to normal life living me. It's still burning. What the ****. It shouldn't still be burning. Richard. His name is Richard. His laugh is contagious. TreAtment 2 a success? Richards hair is gone. He thinks it's funny. Please God. Not me. Why does it always burn. Can someone get used to this kind of pain? There's no way. Ugh. Rantings of a medicated cancer patient. Super great. God this hurts. Treatment 3? Ok. Richard is gone.. The nurse won't talk about it. All she said is his suffering is over. Why does she talk to me like I'm a child? Or like in not mentally capable of excepting death?! At least he no longer burns! I'm angry. It hurts. Why me is all I can ever think. When they insert this stupid needle into my pump, I feel it immediately take over me. I feel the pain. I feel the complete and total lack of control. Maybe I want to be like Richard..



Riah

I've made my peace with angels and demons alike, I've given my notice so people know this may be thee end of my life. There's only one thing I haven't stopped doing, that's fight. I take the medicine, sometimes in strife. I let them insert the poison that feels like a knife. I've let my hair fall to the ground and cried. I've yelled and screamed and swung until the tears sting. Saying something isn't fair doesn't make it better, it won't take it away or make it hurt less. Nothing will make it right. Cancer. 6 letters. 6 simple measly letters, in others words I guess they're alright, but when formed in this way.. Hatred. I fight until I can't. What other options are there? Die? That's the only other option, but I can't let my mind be clouded. That's not an option in my book. My doctor cried and jumped up and down when he told me my cell count lowered, I was confused at first until I realized, he doesn't want to loose me any more than I want to be lost.. Fight. Fight. ****. Cancer.


Riah

translucence is rare
withdraw your opaque armor
swim in fearless love

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