The Pulp

I placed the fault upon others
when the seed resided within myself,
and when others cared enough to touch me
the pulp began to develop:
What started small and insignificant,
sprouted thorns and leaves, while I,
powerless to cease my own vegetation
became dependent upon an artificial fertilization.
What I thought was love - was poison.
I thrived on a toxin so exquisite, the taste
never quite left my recollection
Now it courses through my veins, like acid
rendering every feeble cell, contaminated. Well,
everyone knows the only way to kill the vine
is to trace it back to the roots, unfortunately mine
lay at the center of all my breaths and fruits:
the Heart, so be it.
I will be satisfied when the job is completed;
when I suffer from my own obsessions no more,
my body will be depleted.

the cancer

I was trying not to let it spread
as it lay, heavy, against my chest
but the cancer became a welcome guest
and I; its host -
It greedily fed
upon the empty niche inside my breast
see, I was a glutton
for unrest, from the very onset
of this life I led
and it won't be much longer, now
my heart's almost gone.
they say, "Death be not proud"
but they were wrong.
I am filled with pride:
the darkness gives me strength, and desire,
and drive
to walk not only through euphoria vines
but to battle this perpetual oppression of night
and relief, in knowing
that someday,
I may end my fight.