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katewinslet Oct 2015
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Michael Hoffman May 2013
I bought a cruiser bike
instead of a mountain bike
I’m a sextagenarian
not a 30-something
so every morning I pedal
to the corner across from the Ritz-Carlton and the Montage
next to the high-rent Pandemonde Café
and count the Ferraris roaring by.

I never had a Ferrari
but I did buy a ’96 Mustang once
and souped it up with a supercharger
which was around the time
my doctor took me off testosterone
because my prostate specific antigen
was way too high

You have an inoperable prostate malignancy, he said
after the biopsy
You can’t take hormone replacement anymore
It will **** you

And as I lean on my bike
depressed about missing the rush
of another boost of synthetic male hormone
I enjoy watching the Europen speedsters streak by
so proud of themselves
in cars that cost more
than my house.

I used to wish I was them
used to feel like them
when I was younger and charging hard
but now I just utter prayers
for each Lamborghini that goes by
and I say
I hope your car is faster than cancer.
jane taylor May 2016
the needle on record
catches a scratch
the music’s awry

happily writing a story
the inkwell
runs dry

interruption of
fairytale endings
where nobody dies

awaiting a biopsy
out on a limb
nowhere to hide

©2016janetaylor
a doctor thought i had cancer ~ turned out to be a misdiagnosis
Kalesh Kurup Sep 2017
“Sir, this mole seems to be growing and spreading”
Suhail stopped the scissor and comb, and said
“It’s a bit grown than last month and even then, I noticed it spreading”

Suhail is my hair stylist for the last about six years
I have seen him growing from a Hair Analyst to Specialist to Senior Hair Specialist
There is something more than the generous tip that connects us
May be my willingness to abide by his experiments with my hair
Or reciprocation of loyalty that bound us every month

Surprised, I asked him, “What mole are you talking about?”
“Don’t you know the black mole on the back side of your left ear” puzzled Suhail
“You go and check with Madam, may be its my feeling only”

“How would madam know about it Suhail, she doesn’t cut my hair!”
“Arre Sir, you too!” Suhail had a vicious smile on his face
“Come on tell me” I prodded him with the same viciousness
We got into wayward pastime …

“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When you lay down on her lap in those afternoons
And she combs your hair with her fingers
And when you fall into that muddle of sleepiness and excitement
Her eyes would lock it”

“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When she comes from the back as on paws of a cat
Hugs and hold you tight with her hands
And press her face on your shoulder
Her eyes would lock it”

“Arre, Sir, they get to see it…
When those drenched lips move away from your lips
And the craving teeth leave a hickey on that earlobe,
Her eyes would lock it”

Suhail finished the haircut and I left tipping him as usual
The drive back home searched through the labyrinths of memories
Of caressing fingers, tight hugs and hickeys
Why didn’t she mention that mole, ever?

“Honey, you never told about that Mole,
Come on, let me see and let’s go to a Dermatologist quickly
We can’t take these things lightly; the doctor may even suggest a biopsy
Biopsy is fully covered in your mediclaim, isn’t it?”
“Arre” is a Hindi language term meaning “Hey”
Andrew Rueter Jun 2017
My sympathy depleted
My friendships deleted
I have been defeated
By truths that hit so hard
I was decleated
By intense hatred deep-seeded
My history was repeated

I guess a three-armed mutant
Has no need for a right hand man
Until his leprosy riddled hands rot off
When he needs them the most
But his ***** limbs had been pretty useless for a while
Since he had lost feeling in them
He had to do a biopsy on his life
After the inaccurate results of the smear test
He took antibiotics to rid himself of the bacteria
But that didn't heal the nerve damage
He yearned for the rhetoric to be less inflammatory
So he took steroids
Transforming the ***** into an ogre
With no semblance of humanity
...Except for the people he devours
Their patience is delicious
He eats that first
Their pity is a delicacy
A rare treat
Their disgust tastes sour
But it's a feast
His cannibalism may seem callous
But the non-mutant lepers take Thalidomide
And get pregnant
Their kids come out defected
With an intense, deep-seeded hatred for three-armed mutants
And lepers and ogres look exactly the same
To those of another species
Francie Lynch Jun 2017
We need a biopsy
To diagnose hypocrisy
In American Democracy.
The evil Dr. Trump's creature, The Statue of Liberty, has melanoma, and it's spreading.
LD Goodwin Jun 2013
Tomorrow morning they are going to take them,
what am I going to do?
He says it doesn’t matter to him, because I have a pretty face.
In all the years we've been married, he’s never told me I had a pretty face.
I don’t think he’s going to be able to handle this.
Hell, I don’t think I'm going to be able to handle this.
God ******, I am going to loose my hair,
I am gonna loose my beautiful ******* hair, then everyone will know.
People will put sanitizer on their hands after they shake mine.
All my friends and family will treat me differently.
They’ll feel sorry for me, they won’t know what to say.
And then there’ll be those who will say too much, or the wrong thing.
"I’ll pray for you", some will say,
But I know what they are thinking, they think....
"that is what she gets for drinking her martinis and smoking her ***".
Some will even say it is God’s will.
**** God!
He is stealing my beauty,
my wonderfully gorgeous ****, my hair.
They are a part of me.
I don’t give a **** what a man thinks about my *******,
that they are **** or voluptuous,
they are a part of me.
And now, like a side of beef,
they are going to section me up and take them from me.
What will they do with them?
I mean after they biopsy.
Can I have them to bury?
Sorry, I know that wasn't necessary, but I am mad.
I am mad and afraid, I am so afraid.
I know my husband, he will never be the same.
He doesn’t **** me with his eyes closed, my **** turn him on.
But then any woman’s **** turn him on.
When he reaches to touch them, there’ll be nothing there.
I’ll look like a little boy, nothing.
Maybe I have identified with them too much,
I have made them a big part of my personality.
I've fed my children with them, my boyfriends fought over them,
they have got me into and out of trouble more than once.
****, I am going to have to get a whole new wardrobe.
And now, in the morning
they are going to cut them off of me
and put them in a stainless steel operating room bowl.
Like chicken fat.
Why do I feel like this,
I didn’t cry when the dentist pulled my wisdom teeth?
What if he told me I had to or else I would die, I’d pulled them myself?
I trim my nails, and get my hair cut and dyed.
I exfoliate my skin.
I lost 10lbs last year and I didn’t shed one tear,
my ******* will weigh more than that.
But I am loosing something else,
I am loosing normal.
I'll have to find a new normal.
I am loosing myself
and replacing it with a different person.
I’ll be one of them,
I’ll be a survivor,
a hero.
I'll hold hands with other survivors and walk 10 miles
and wear a **** load of pink.
Hey, but I don't look too bad in pink.

*later this week a friend is going to have a double mastectomy.  These are just a few of the words I have collected from other breast cancer survivors. I had to do something for her. My hope is that we become more aware of the fear and pain that breast cancer victims go through.
Harrogate, TN June 2013
Wanderer Apr 2014
"Stay?"
A pleaded entreaty with tears
Soaking the edges of it's echo
Carries from your mouth to my ears
My mind races with leg entwined visions
The sloppy wet heat of our tongues
Swirling
Whispered apologies for years of neglect and bad choices
All could be mine
Yet...
That may be all *this
is
Chemical desire in a centrifuge
Until well blended with come **** me
DNA strands
You say you'll be there
Then when most needed
"Where's Waldo?", on the search
You know, even without disease
Our telomeres will eventually decide
When we are finished
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your fingerprints are all over my heart
Love, it's my mind
You've been reaching for all of this time
To only brush it with your fingertips
Medoro May 2014
Lying post ***,

Thinking about what I've done,

The best love I ever gave...
I was thinking of you.

This dark matter seeps into
the white glow surrounding your image.

Good and bad intertwine
like inseparable lovers.

This thing we have
is a biopsy of the nature of the universe:

The **** always stains the white pavement
and becomes a part of it forever.

Why do I have to love you?

Please cut this string,
stab me in the heart, and
End it.
Nothing Personal Aug 2012
We forgot to make love last night,
yet again like many other nights
we remained distant islands separated by
Bermuda's of bed sheet and air.
The body wasn't very happy
Those thousands of red cells inside you
divided and redivided in anger
Ached and oozed and broke free
from your restless

When I woke up this morning,
I found you lying in a pool of blood.
You decided to go to work
After all it was a Friday and
the long weekend was a week away.

You take too many iron supplements
I fear, one day your body will be so full of folic acid
that it will cry.

We have the Smokies lined up for October
and the Cayman Islands in Christmas
Thinking of planned vacations makes me go to work
every day
Even though I ****
so bad
that I'd rather open a book store
and read all day
and sell a book or two.

My life is still all about you
After all these years
I still couldn't kiss that woman who
asked me on a coffee date at 10 pm by the lake.
or the one who found me cute on our album by the dressing table
You would say "Go ahead , we are not married yet".
I would laugh when I am alone,
thinking of the all the things you say
these days.

You say all the good things in life needs planning
marriage, kids,
buying house on mortgage
convertible sport coupes
vacations in South Pacific.
I find it ironic that I met you on a book store
when I cancelled a TGIF party and had this sudden urge
to buy Alice Munro's short stories.

We were sweet, back then.
Now you lie,
about being anemic on your weekly routine checkup
hide,
your biopsy report soon afterwards;
lie again,
on the reason of your sudden cancellation of the planned vacations for the year end
saying it's work.

Then you disappear, terrify me
Only to come back strands of hair gone from your head
still say nothing,
yet finally disappear saying nothing before I could buy us
the last vacation together.
I regret how much we could have done
together
if we made love more often
my body healing yours
resting, soothing,
purging all the enemies.

On the day when we supposed to be married
I visit the Caymans
laughing alone in a crowded beach
thinking about all the things you used to say these days
having Alice Munro's short stories for company.
wecanonlywish May 2014
i never knew i could feel so sick and so happy.
you tore me apart
in the most beautiful way.
the hole where my heart was still bleeds.
i wish you had taken my stomach
for, without butterflies in it, it is useless.
my brain has no purpose
now that you are not around to occupy it.
and worst of all you left me with lungs that i wish would collapse
because without you oxygen is poison.
Robert Ronnow Jan 2019
I waited too long
to mow my lawn
biopsy my lung
yet lived long enough, anon,
however long is long.
Whatever. It's not wrong
to count along
while busy living. Sing
and stay strong
absorb the sun's photons
and store them in your bones.

Those bones
outlast slights and spurns
are white as lightning and strong
as sticks and stones.
Inside is one's
spirit, soul, the nameless one
the one that's never known.
It has no cell phone
can't communicate or even moan.
Therefore. Why complain?
Have some fun.

Soon
I'll be undone
underground
my garden burned down.
So what. John Donne
died and so did Milton.
Emerson too, and Whitman.
Get over it. Vote. Love. When
the train comes in the station
whistle with it, wish on
stars with passion
or careful hesitation.
Anything's fine, within reason.

Season by season
things get done.
Algebra and calculus, Malcolm X, George Washington.
No taxation
without representation.
A gun
in every den.
People will be governed
one way or another, by a king
or trusted friend. Corporation.
Men
are more disposed to suffer, while Evils are sufferable, than
to right themselves by abolishing the Evils to which they are        
      resigned.

I'm too young
to die! I cry. My generation
cannot outrun the sun
but I want to see what happens
next, a tsunami or tornado, rain
and wind beyond our comprehension
hit in the head by speeding debris, irony
of ironies! plastic contraptions,
rotting computers and yogurt cups, pain
in the baby! Moment's
notice. None,
I notice, live long
enough to see the end. Amen. A million

years hence
human sense
has so modified and mutated under
other moons
we share one mind
and everything's remembered by everyone.
Look it up. There is no death, just perfect rest. A perfect tan
is possible, and work is fun.
I'm going there when I pass on
because souls will travel at warp speeds, using nuclear fusion.
About suffering, religion
was right (and wrong) all along.
www.ronnowpoetry.com

--U.S. Declaration of Independence
Sandwich
no sand
a
tea but not witch

I feel slightly
Rodney
must have that
biopsy

Albert tells me
it's okay.

the wind from the East
could ******* away
not today though because
I'm weighed down by life.

glad of some gravity
who wouldn't be?
shouldering responsibility,
the new me

albeit without the biopsy.
v V v Dec 2012
A shadow on the upper right lobe,
its probably nothing*

Its close to Christmas,
I think about our first
and how purple it was,
sunflower medallions
and George Winston.
I grew my hair long
and wore camouflage.

We ought to run a few more tests

My guilt was more than
I could carry back then,
gallons in half gallon buckets,
blood splashing onto
white carpet.

We'll get a little more blood on
Tuesday


The waiting game was nearly terminal,
the kids and I exchanged gifts in the Sears
parking lot. When I got home you held me.

We need to talk in my office for a minute

I cried about the choices they made.
You were never unkind. The rosaries I
made were hung on our bedposts,
they hang there still.

The shadow on your lung is a tumor

Its been five years.  They're adults now
and old enough to hear about death.

I'll schedule a biopsy for after Christmas

I don't think I'll tell them.
I don't think I'll tell you either..

maybe just once we'll have a peaceful holiday.
disclaimer: this is for the most part fiction.
Lauren Sage Aug 2013
She said she doesn't feel them
So there would be a hard time getting someone to biopsy them
And they're multiple some are hard some are big and theres NOTHING I can do
(Nothing)

Your anxiety was worthless so STOP IT
(Please, stop.)

And even though I'm supposed to feel good-
Like I'm healthy and OK and
Not going to die any second-

I still feel as though they're going to find cancer.
Someday.

And they'll be sorry,
But I'll be sorrier.
Lea Feb 2018
Sometime between six and eight o’clock last night
You replaced my lungs with TV static
It crackles and fizzles and won’t let me sleep
Sending shivers and shocks though my body

At exactly 9 o’clock when you left me at my door
You placed a tiny pebble inside my throat
Constricting my words and my breath, and it won’t go away
Maybe you’ll take it away when I see you again

No, I do not take any drugs except bitter pills
I am not a heavy drinker except of tea and rain
I am not vaccinated against vulnerability (my mistake)
But if you would kindly remove the heart, I’ll be going then
David Swinden Feb 2016
Cancer my barriers you are breaking down
I keep on swimming until I drown
Biopsy results with cell abnormalities
Is it the start of another fatality?  
Again I'm waiting for more test results
I keep on searching... is it all my fault?
So many questions but silence remains
In emotional turmoil I feel the strain
As they continue to run more tests
I will remain under constant threat
It's a question of time and falling down
I will keep on swimming until I drown

4th February Cancer Day
unwritten Jan 2018
Train 85 leaves the station and bursts into the blinding sunlight with a surreal suddenness. Below, to the left of the tracks, a field of wheat sways as though still under a summer sun. Golden-brown and lively in spite of the snow resting at its roots. The blinding sun hangs high, glimmering on the water. It gives me a headache. I try to ignore it.

Ahead of me, the laughter of two young people fills the car. I wonder if they are strangers, engaged in conversation just minutes after meeting. I wonder if they have the same destination, if they are each equally happy to be heading towards it.

To my right, across the aisle, a woman no older than fifty talks loudly on the phone about her father’s tumor and the biopsy that will soon determine if it is cancer. She sounds optimistic, and I am happy for her. I tread lightly on the thought that maybe her loud optimism is a front. I want to be happy for her. But in an hour I will get off this train, and if her father dies, I will never know.

The woman sitting next to me returns from the café car with a Dunkin' Donuts coffee and takes out her laptop. I turn down my brightness so that she can’t see that I am writing about her. Even though I write nothing bad, it feels like some sick invasion of privacy.

My fingers feel heavy. This train feels heavy.

I want to be outside, before the sun sets, while the golden-brown wheat is still bathed in light. The sun is going to set without me. I try to be okay with that.

The last time I ever wrote on an Amtrak — the last time I can remember —, it was a song about loneliness and self-destruction. It was more than two years ago. I want to be able to say that I have changed more than I actually have. But even as the world rushes past me, snow and wheat and house and sun, I still feel impossibly lonely. The heaviness from my fingers is in all of me now. I can’t shake it.

The young people ahead of me, the woman across the aisle, and the woman next to me all begin talking at once now, and I feel hot. Their words bounce back and forth off the walls, and I need to get off of this train. Receiving these airborne snippets of other lives feels wrong, feels overwhelming.

Anyone who reads this piece will think I’m insane.

The woman next to me stops speaking. The young people ahead of me quiet down. The woman across the aisle is engaged in some other conversation that I can’t exactly make out. It’s quieter. I might still break the windows of this train if I could, but it is quieter. My fingers feel a little less heavy. It is quieter. At least the insanity is in words now.
this is something a little different, but i hope you all enjoy. 12.14.17
Torin Apr 2016
You weren't alone when you got the news
Modern medicines waiting room blues
A stethascope doesn't know the way your heart beats
And science never found a reason why

Suffer begin

Voice in the night
When words are unspoken
Hands from the sky
Are ripping me open

Suffer begin

You're in room nine the third door on the left
You've been through the test and never know to expect
Sputum cytology, x-rays, and biopsy
You've never needed lungs to breathe

Suffer begin

Words in the night
About a body that's broken
Hands from the sky
Are ripping me open

He is a friend of mine
Suffer begin
About a friend, I know you'll beat it
Andreas Simic Apr 2022
I feel like an antiquity
some relic from the past

crumbling at the edges
eroded over time

aging has arrived
There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor

once invincible
reality is bringing with it a heavy blow

it creeps upon you
like a stealth thief in the night

now you berate yourself
for being caught unaware

new words slip into your vocabulary
things like “possible stroke”

a litany of tests are conducted
let’s begin with a blood test

maybe a ***** sample
we can schedule an MRI

is this a heart attack
there is a CAT or CT scan as it is known

what about the C word, cancer
let’s do an ultrasound

ff that doesn’t find it there is always
an endoscopy or colonoscopy complete with biopsy

the realization that life’s destiny is prevailing
is the end nigh

the relic you have become
looking at you in the mirror of life

Andreas Simic©
A recent health issue prompted this write.
Jim Timonere Apr 2016
Waiting for a biopsy result can be its own kind of hell
because you can't be sure whether time
will bring you something good or **** you.

It's not that I fear death yet, even though I know I will,
it's the anticipation of the death process ripping me down
from the inside out while people I love are sorrowful
and try to be brave for me.

And yet, the answer time is hiding could be life
full and warm and wonderful and long,
which is to say death will use a slower process to claim me
and those who love me will have more time to watch
as I fade to the Place we all must go.

It strikes me then these moments, even now
as I bare my soul to you, are something
to be enjoyed rather than spent in dread of what time could bring,
for the ultimate result has never been avoided.
Del Maximo Jan 2016
elevator was full
when the bell 'dinged' and the doors opened
on the geriatric floor
mom was lost in the back
intimidated by the crowd
she held out her hand
for me to pull her through
some folks chuckled
with their haughtiness and sun glasses
such silly, ignorant people
I guess they thought I had an old girlfriend
from then on
whenever she needed to
she would hold out her hand
for me to help her

got to know her better
in her old age
learned to ignore her crankiness
and façade of always knowing better
just watching tv and joking with her
evoking a giddy laugh
or a toothless smile
drawing her bath
seeing to her needs and comfort
dealing with her doctors
eyeballing her meds and diet
comforting her tears

paramedics whisked her to ER
they found a tumor in her stomach
her children and grandchildren kissed her
on her cheek and forehead
en route to pathology's biopsy
when they rolled her bed past me
I gave her a thumbs up
hoping she would return it
instead, she held out her hand
she must have been scared
I held if for a moment's reassurance
but this time I couldn't pull her through
she survived the surgery
but never made it home
©11/29/15
sandra wyllie Mar 2019
You Were Callous

when she went for her second
breast biopsy. You said she’d already been
through it. Blew if off like it was just
another runny nose. She was scared and

shaking. So heartbreaking to have
the man that she loved treat her with such
contempt when she needed him
the most. That was the point of the

breaking. That was when she rushed off
to the board. Maybe it was cold calculating. But after
she was treated that way she didn’t care. All
that went before that faded to black. Seven months

later your own wife needed a biopsy - it came back
cancerous. Wasn’t she there to deliver the
basket of fresh fruit and chocolate, the warm greeting
card and a loaf of fresh blueberry bread.
Well hi there, I need a mole removal. I'd do it myself but I need biopsy approval. If it 'a cancerous, I'd like to know. And for this reason, to the dermatologist I'll go.
  Well hi, there, I see you're in-network. A $50 copay? Sure, that'll work. What's that? Later in you're going to charge me a $150 new-patient fee? But, why? I was only in here for maybe twenty minutes. Am I now being charged rent to sit my *** on your medical chair?
   So now I'll wait for the bill to arrive. Oh, look. It's here... Wonder what it'll be?
$298!? What the hell could've cost so much? All you did was inject me with some sedative, bring in something comparable to a box opener and lop it off. The whole thing, in-room with me took you just about less than 15...
   Oh, and look... It looks like my insurance did pay more than half. It cost nearly $800 for the whole thing. What the crap?!
  Oh, I suppose our country is trying to work out the kinks. And for all my troubles, I guess I'll be finalizing my account for mostly, if not all free. Once the financial assistance department decides to stop giving me the run-around. Next time, I suppose I'll need to inspect further. Just because the office is down the street does NOT necessarily mean it's going to end up being cheaper. Because if I'd have known maybe $10 in gas would have saved me all this trouble, I would not have gone to what is technically classified as a "hospital."
Yeah... Hoping my bill will finally be reduced. They sent me the wrong form, then said they lost my paperwork in the mail. Then said they lost my files. Finally, after asking for a supervisor they decided to try to do their job. -*sigh*
Samuel Taylor Jul 2018
Dear Mum,

I found the letter you left for me the other day in a small box you had bought me the last Christmas we spent together. And on that small box says “keep on drumming sam” along with a biblical quote re-written to be about music (which I know was obviously a joke due to our constant bickering towards my hatred towards the construct of religion). Anyway back to the point. I come across this letter from time to time, the last time was the night before my 21st. The night when after reading the letter I went and picked up a big bottle of our favourite drink and preceded to drink it all whilst raising each glass in your name.

Everyone says their mum is the greatest but you really were. You provided me with an amazing childhood with some amazing experience. Yes I know that sounds weird coming from me due to always being morbid.but seriously you did give me an incredible childhood. You sorted me out with amazing education, great holidays and you instantly knew when I was sad sometimes even before I realised I was, like when you knew deep down I was feeling lonely and one day you turned up to pick me up from school and surprised me with the greatest gift ever and the bestest friend I ever had, max.
And Yes we had some bad times throughout my childhood like the arguments I had with Martyn and him storming out and not to return for three months or the violent tantrums I used to have. But we always got through it all. Even when on that day in may 2012, when you sat me and Martyn down along with the rest of the family to tell us that after a second biopsy, the spinal chord tumour that was originally diagnosed as benign was in fact cancerous. From that day on, things got harder as you well know. From going from a nurse who used to see running laps round the ward to provide the greatest care to ending up losing all feeling and movement in your legs meant that you couldn’t do the job I knew you loved so very much. And I know it was so hard for you and I know i probably weren’t any help from time to time arguing and getting funny about you refusing to look up alternative methods of treatment whilst you just wanted to leave it to the doctors and live out your days to the max and yes I said some awful things, which I have now  come to regret very much. But you were a fighter for them 4 years and well as I would always say when you were feeling down “ you are Barbara thompson’s daughter” as you battled through every ounce of the disease with so much strength like grandma did.

The day before you passed I tried speaking to you on the phone and you couldn’t focus. So you messaged me apologising and when I asked if you were going to be fine and should I go back to my uni digs after work you replied “I’ll live” not knowing that hours later Martyn would find out you had gone in your sleep. But them words were true, even if cliche to say you still do live, yes not physically but you’ll live on in memory and in my heart.
I love you mum and although these last 2 and a half years have been some of the toughest years of my life I feel like I have come through it all stronger because of how you raised me all I want was and still is to make you proud. I’m going to finish uni, live out my dreams and hopefully find some form of happiness.

From your little boy,
Sam
Traci Sims Feb 2022
Three ****** and it starts
An x-ray tells the story
The door to the tunnel has opened
I hope that this road has two paths
And not one.
Get a mammogram, ladies.
Traci Sims Feb 2022
Life rolled up at the gate
And reached out with
Arms like scythes,
Beckoning me forward
Its eyes dark and unknowing.
I thought I had time
and hung back, indecisive.
While the seat looked inviting,
I had reason for fear.
Then the Master of the Ride looked at me
And marched over to the lever
"Get in" he barked impatiently and the door banged shut like a bomb.
It is now time to use what I've learned
about big hills and wild curves:
Lean in, not away,
And see yourself victorious
At the summit.
I am terrified but I will fight the good fight.
KD Miller Apr 2016
4/3/2016

i fear i will never get that year back,
that lying down on the grass
that turned into loitering on alleyway fire-escapes and
dont you think this town is a little too small for that hahahaha
i tried to recreate it, the futility drove me to
smoke camels i found on the side of the road,
i haven't smoked in a year and i feel worse

i felt a very real grease back then a very real
bad quality
and now it is just vague, glacous- a night without sleep,
a cliffside leap.
it has been six months since i sat on a shackled hospital bed

and i dont think i ever really left.
my mother threatened to bring lawyers,
to halt my detainment
and i did leave
but i didn't really
and i don't think i ever will

this is all because i tried to recreate that year
and i failed
and i tried so hard
but the scalpel and cauterize of live's uncouth events picked me
apart, a biopsy
to the bone,

accidentally severed my torso and killed me
so i linger a downy ghost in a grey colony of moss
wishing for better days
that are far away
and will always stay that way.
You can write your life in elegies, the culture still remains the same
Some say we can make the truth or zero-knowledge from song and dance
Old and aged, insatiable and satiate our addictions lancing us on horses hedonistic
If I were a psychiatrist I'd read you, talk of zero summers, in Hebrew biopsy and medicines, a free think of hope, dangerous thing
But, soon wildflowers will be writing about you makes it worth selling, trouble bed's made and occupied by ***** and mead
If I were a state of mind, I'd be a person of my lines of stares
I write these as an essay on the highs of cultural expression, Tanks can also be a form of cultural expression
Maybe it's oppression on the fire of the year of ten soldiers on the freedom of the nightlight and lively likeness if we were searching for lost gold
It's a way we write about the memories and have free will and fears too, truant about freedom often losing courage and killing kings, queens often make out of it really sad
Rarely, raffle, rabble fiefdom, caviling censuring frenetic energy, virile yelling, on the catatonic hall in the cat in the LA Alhambra hall, or maybe souls pass in that dark hall
It is in the falling stars, into the years as they go by on the fault line of insatiate desires, burning fires in the circles of hell
Arriving in this Le suiva drama or friends in our pallbearers of different friends married to different soulS
Hangovers and everything, black and blue, white and black I cannot tell that the kitten is following in its the prologue of lithe likewise following the battered suitcases on the ways, and long ago
Something like this friendship and relations, festering autumn, seasons change and the summers brings the music of the piano man, Billy Joel
Plays in the freedom that reeks of freedom in the hallway, reflecting in the drunk cigarettes, starched shirts often come in the forum of swarth men, in the frescoed building painted with freewill to achieve
Heights for freewill and tumescence in tempestuous objectivity, of how we look at life, grades of herons, Freud's animals degraded in this foxtail, a plant across the house
In yonder tempered mental gaze, it's struggling to solve these worlds in fewer drinks and more works
Works offered their dreams, we offer the night terrors and midnight mistreatment
Treatize odyssey, riches to rags, muses can call me in my sleep and leave me out wry
Dry

— The End —