Love and Words

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little disease

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Oh little disease,

would you take from me,

all that life has come to mean?


If you were to look at me,

if I were to place myself before your eyes

without costume or masque -

you could trace the history of my life

by the path it has left

on my body.


Here is the scar

from the time I fell down

and discovered

just how yellow I could become.


A smooth healed place

glows white on my wrist

where my first love

grew tired

of my inattentive fits

and used her teeth

to voice her dissatisfaction.


There are marks on my feet

from a race run long

in shoes just out of the box.


A thin scar there...no here,

from the shattering glass

of a bomb thrown to scare.


And my arms

bear the various and sundry,

marks and wounds,

from a work too hard for most - 

but it cleanses me.

 


What you cannot see,

are the injuries within,

and the little disease

that lives inside me.


My little friend,

who most likely,

will be my last company

and end.


It strikes me as funny.

that I wear my past on my body

yet the future

is something you cannot see.

Only I know

it is already written 

deep within me.

In my cells

sleeping so sound,

tossing fitfully

when the nightmares come around.


My whole life now,

my whole life - 

which till now was

so absent minded

as not to feel the pain

as I picked up my scars 

along the way,

my whole life,

is devoted 

to paying such close attention

to my little friend's whims,

that sometimes it seems,

as if my little disease,

is quite a bit larger

than me.

 

Sometimes.


But I am learning

that although my past

may be tattooed and carved

into me,

it is nothing more

nor less,

than an interesting

but harmless memory.


And my future,

so clearly written down,

isn't even close 

to being here.


In between.

In between...

there are years.


I know,

and take comfort in,

the knowledge that unlike my youth

and the years I passed it in,

I do not go into the future

alone.


My little disease,

my little friend,

will be the type of companion

who will always

remind me

to look closer

and pay attention.


Don't miss a thing.


For unlike before,

I am so very aware of my end

and wish to live the years leading to it 

rather than read how they have been,

from the pages of my skin.

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decagon          poetry

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