I wish I could get my hands on you cancer, Punch you once for all the pain you cause Once, for the people you've ripped apart Once, for the broken hearts left in your wake Once, for the teardrops all cried in your name Once, for all the things you take, Like hope... happiness... sanity Once, for the way you enjoy weaving yourself around peoples bodies Making yourself at home... even though you were only meant to be a temporary guest Who should have left once the chemotherapy started to work... or the radiotherapy kicked in But it didn't did it? And so I will hurt you until you are a painful mess... And then cancer, I will strangle you.... Just like you do to others
My neighbor's wife is battling cancer and she needs your prayers. Please show her that you want her to get better, please show that you care. Her name is Jane Webb and she's undergoing chemotherapy. She needs prayers from you and she needs prayers from me.
dear god of needle ***** and poisoned well i pray you find my mother cold and dry and unfeeling something you can draw no moisture out of a different god struck a rock with a staff a long long time ago and water came to cool his throat but there are no miracles here so you can please stop beating her now
dear god of gluttonous apothecary my mother's body is a mathematical uncertainty it is a function with limits her veins are rolling with their bellies full of chemicals that burn her hair runs from the scalp the way two legs would from a house going up in flames my mother's body is a house going up in flames i am a child that is terrified of a monster under the bed i am helpless to a thing i can feel but cannot see
dear god of gasoline remedy your counterintuitive science your black dream takes her body like a new land teaches her it's wretched language it rapes and pillages it steals the recognition that sparks her eyes when she looks in mine
dear god of intravenous dark rider let her live to see a day she can wake and not be bound to her biology
dear god of pink ribbon tourniquet let her breathe and take it for granted again
dear god of careful rampage finish what you have started and lock the door behind you
His eyes are clear blue-white like egg unveined like a child's this 80-year old philanderer player divorcé on chemotherapy as we speak I eye them jealously; I want blue eyes. Suffer what there is to suffer enjoy what there is to enjoy he adjures me word of Buddha maybe only isn't I shoulda blaze a trail you know burning path a name kinna thing? His eyes are bright alight with old man wisdom hungry to impart: life is suffering he reminds me regard both suffering and joy as parts of life; I check my phone ten minutes have passed; his eyes are distant on some kinna future apart.
Monday Night Football on a Thursday. Preseason. Johnny Manziel, running. The nurse is a signal caller, too. She flicks the wrist like Rodgers, puts spin on it like Manning. Once a rookie, now a seasoned vet.
Monday Night Football on a Thursday. Network glitch? John Gruden, talking. Anxiety lurks in the tall grass still licking its paws. My head's out the game. I've become an easy meal.
Monday Night Football on a Thursday. If I had another John he'd go right here. I miss my mother, and how she smiles like my illness only increases my value, puts gold in my veins instead of chemo. Rex throws his clipboard, I lose my appetite.
Monday Night Football On A Thursday. No more John's. Get over it. Game's almost over. My head fresh from the toilet, pieces of everything falling out of me. Broken. Stumbling. At this moment, football is enough.