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Your words are like chemotherapy;
a dose of truth,
a dose of advise,
a dose of pain and hurt.

Draining me,
breaking me
with the way
the words radiate
through my body.

But once my soul
resonates with those words,
blooming begins
and life starts to flourish
little by little.
killian Feb 3
Baby, can you draw me
How you really saw me?
Rugged-looking, falling apart.

Baby, can you see me
At my highest degree?
Drug-ed looking, falling apart.

Honey, do you see the
hairs that leave just me?
That’s just me falling apart.

Honey, can you paint me
How it really pains me?
**** it; really call that your art.
Erin Apr 2017
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
Randy Johnson Nov 2016
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.
Nicole Hammond Aug 2016
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
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
Gabriel K Oct 2015
His eyes are clear
blue-white like egg
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
only isn't I shoulda blaze a trail you know
burning path
a name
kinna thing?
His eyes are bright
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

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.
Dyanova Sep 2014
almost bald, but for
fine white hair pushing through his
wrinkled scalp, in spring
My hair fall shampoo
Didn't quite work
This time around.

— The End —