Voices are screaming,
Heart is hammering,
Skin is sweating,
Lips are trembling,
Limbs are aching with phantom pain,
I think my brain tumour is back again.
Is that the DT’s?
Or is it disease?
Won’t someone listen? Please? Please?
Priceless things, those good friends’ ears.
Wish I’d known that over the years.
Bottled up and seeping out,
Feel the venom while I shout.
Poisoned by my own reticence,
Maybe I need another penance?
Forgiving myself for all the guilt,
Making myself accept the trip.
Relief is temporary, pain is real
I bet you can’t tell what I feel.
Guilt, shame, fear and doubt.
That’s what my poor life was about.
But no more! Says I,
I’d rather die.
Than give in to it, or sit, and sigh.
And now I learn I’m allowed to cry.
I love Friday, can you tell?
