It didn't take a Harvard Medical School
degree to detect you and I were not
lovers destined to wed but two viruses
doing their best to infect each other,
two fevers that'd spread,
different symptoms of the same sickness.
Past cure I am, now reason is past care.
Did I really wish to die?
The doctor dismissed me with the
professional ease with which one might
swat a fly, as if for the fly's own good.
So what if you loved me more intimately
than anyone ever would? A cancer cell
could say that of any body it refused
to let go. Once the heart was infected,
How could it be corrected?
So what was I waiting for?
The truth is, the doctor smiled,
the microbe adores the flesh it's dating.
_keyur_everything
No comments:
Post a Comment