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- He tells me I am irrelevant
- A now nameless face to his sea of haunted memories
- I am almost grateful
- He must think that I am dead
- A name shelved into the back of his mind,
- he still calls me mouse.
- I think, somewhere,
- he still knows who I am.
- A man, 28 years old,
- barely able to function
- the cancer has taken his liver, his brain and his lungs.
- His legs do not move on their own,
- paralysis has set in,
- and yet,
- he is still refusing chemo.
- He tells me that a monster should learn when to die.
- A monster should know when his time has expired,
- when the meat is too rotten to hold on.
- For a moment,
- though it sickens me to hear it,
- I don’t want to,
- but I laugh.
- My mind flashing back to the times we stayed up all night watching Hannibal
- and I see it.
- He isn’t a monster,
- neither of them ever were.
- Though he never devoured his victims.
- He crushed us,
- ground us to dust and I //see//.
- We were to him the same as he was to us.
- A drug.
- High on the dust of our bones floating through the atmosphere,
- he got his fix while giving us ours.
- High on the adrenaline in our veins,
- We got our fix while giving him his.
- He takes me by the hand in my dreams,
- holding my body against his with the air we breathed,
- he held me softly.
- And for the first time in our lives,
- we felt whole.
- His cracks filled with the molten lava of my pulverised soul,
- giving me a home,
- he looks me in the eye and he tells me he loves me.
- We felt whole.
- And for the first time in our lives,
- He knew he meant it.
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