A Chance at Cancer

I'm trying to wipe

This disgusting taste of the random

Off my tongue.

But it's all so arbitrary.

Breathe the west wind

Instead of the east

And be struck with diseased sin.

It's hard to believe

That nothing is chance,

But I'm willing to flirt with the godly dance

Of Reason;

Of rain being cyclical.

Of a cross being meant for...

Jesus Christ, it hurts.

Where does it come from?

And where does it go?

You're asking me to come up.

And I just might.

I don't even sense a sun-up


Oh God, don't ever get cancer.

I'll leave this world

Trying to justify

An answer...

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Gary Mills's picture

Wipe the taste of random off my tongue...(paraphrased with apolgies) What a graphic image of anger, and then dispair. This piece is short but it runs the gammet of emotions with the precision of laser surgery. Well done Alex, as always, andI bow to the master of imagery.