They cut me exposing raw, vulnerable skin but also leave an orange residue that will infect me.
These veins will heal over & I'll think I forgot, but the words you spoke over me are embedded in my bloodstream.
Like I'm over this
&
the scar has faded but your voice still haunts every cell count that's counted.
Rushing through telling me
there's
no
purpose.
My mind is held captive & "stage four" is a virus built coffin, chemo are its nails & radiation the dirt.
You claimed you were an angel & promised life with one bite.
You opened this door & drove 3 nails into that t-shaped coffin.
Itching & withdrawing from what I thought was light,
I guess Sometimes we're taken to be proof of the Light.
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