Lurking
It’s always lurking. There in the doctor’s office, under the hi-tech medical equipment designed to discover it. To bring it out into full light and now exposed to poison and radiate it.
It’s always lurking. In the blood. The rush and retreat. The pulsating rhythm. Not enough white cells. Not enough red cells. Not enough. Not enough.
It’s always lurking. Smirking as a diagnosis is given. Do you know what that is? Laughing at the shock of a short prognosis. Do you know what that means?
It’s always lurking. In the shaking hands, the flinching facial muscles, the shuffling gait. I’m gaining on you. It won’t be long now. I’m catching up.
It’s always lurking. In a moment, in a lifetime. In a dark desolate corner, in a too bright exam room. Ready to pounce. Ready to claim. Lurking as it waits for the kill.
No comments:
Post a Comment