the 7 year itch
it began with the veriest tickling twitch
that sneakily snuck from my head to my shoes
and now it's a full-blown seven year itch
i'm scratching the surface of post-illness blues.
it's been seven years! how dumb to look back!
yet under the surface, i feel the past lurk
surprise! it's my inner hypochondriac
-- a self-obsessed, macabre jerk.
so every ache must mean death! every pain implies doom!
but i won't ask a doctor - i'm scared of the answer -
instead i'll cling to irrational gloom
i'm officially cockblocked by cancer.
i wonder what it's like to live without dreading fate -
the way you're supposed to when you're twenty-eight.