A pessimistic outlook on this blue planet is the only way I can trudge through my shallow, pitiful existence. Pear pressure digging a hole in my peace and tossing the dirt to the side like it means nothing. The brooding pitter patter of earth against earth turning me into an empty shell. The quiet sobbing of the girl I used to be echoing loudly from within this now vacant space. Each and every word that spills from between my lips wilting with my cancerous mind. Tumors swelling in my hippocampus causing me to both never forget, and always forget all at once. The diseases within my corpse-like body sinking my eye sockets and leaving my heart for dead.
I might as well be a zombie everybody would rather have me dead then deal with my ugly face and diseased flesh.
What Dr. Lector devours with fava beans, inside rots. Too much Chianti? Not likely. Likely, not enough but there has been much else. Still, no amounts warranting any shy example of overload. Mild splurges, done in high style equal nothing in comparison to toxic baths taken in industrial grindstone mortors. And the payback? Walking papers and abdominal lump.
Poke it and choke on acid reflux. Pop more pills to keep it down. Downers prescribed on more downers. Feeling down? Have another downer. What else can we do? Your MRI's and ultrasound, unsound, do not come with flag from foreign invader, claiming this new territory for king.
So, blame it on the offal. Blame it all on the offal for not having guts and glory to fight off its own infection. And eat your chicken livers.
Fear is harder to overcome with each new diagnosis and prognosis, but I continually do. I'm no chicken liver.
I don't know how much more of this I can take You relentlessly push and you shove and you bend me until I break. Darling, I'm about to snap. So if I do, I suggest you wave farewell You better believe that I will drag you with me down to hell. I've let you walk through this break up squeaky clean and vandalize my name I've heard your lies about me that have circled back around and they all sound so insane. I try to play nice with you and give you some kind of credit I've felt so bad for you up until this point and I've really just had it! Say whatever you want about me to everyone if that's how you sleep better at night Because at the end of the day I'm still doing just fine. I don't need to trash your name or embarrass you, like you've tried to do me You make yourself look foolish enough, you don't need my help baby.
I know you haven't heard from me in years . I thought I'd write just to let you know that Tommy Faulkner died , you know passed away . I didn't even know it until it was all over . Don't even know what he died from . Heidi told me . Oh , you don't know Heidi , my fist and third wife . She and Tommy were good friends . Last I heard about you , you were moving to North Carolina , your home by birth . But your home was always with us here on the Southside of Birmingham . Sigh ! I hoped you made a big splash back home when you arrived . Such a polar extreme . I kept your poems for years until Heidi threw out my box of poetry ,with yours included . Also Steven Sedbury's . You remember him ? Last I heard about you , you had a brain tumor and you passed away . Now I stand alone with my ghosts and I have no address to send my posts . Love Thomas