mephausto

.something out of my head today.

four to seven years
a doctors diagnosis
like a death sentence
a countdown to eulogies

a time frame given
to repent all past sins transgressed
to say im sorry for the times i yelled
to promise that this laziness
will go away someday
due to their inspiration

its like some bad action movie
a time bomb of malignant cells
with a countdown
and you hope
that the hero will find the right wire to snip
in time

but it is real
no matter if youre just learning it
over the phone from a
tired mothers voice
no matter even if it is timed out
in years
and you want to think that theres still time to come

no, it is real
and it takes up space in your heart
even if you didnt think there
was any left
keeping your mind away
from tasks at hand
for just a couple seconds each time

remembering taking part
in the Relay For Life
haunted by the luminaries
even before i had one to make

this is not even mourning
this is simply preparation
four to seven years
to prepare
to let go

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p.s. it's funny how perspective-inducing events both decrease and increase a desire for bodies. Decrease in the sense that I don't want a sexual body; increase in the way you want a slient arm around your waist, or a pair of shoulder blades poking out of twisted sheets in the morning. Maybe that's what matters, in the end.