I stand before the future, holding my flesh
with a blade aaimed at dissecting the parts of me
that are ending. A cancerous canker, I can't see
myself cleansing in a riverbed drying than words
never said.

"It's over, I've changed."

And the blade slips aaway, beneath the skin
into the place I hid when you weren't here to say,
"It'll be ok."

I cried for you when nothing else could hurt me,
it's a pity really, I would never have hoped
to see the day
when even my cancer could, well... desert me.