Your mind has calmed,
the raging paranoia
the tirade of fear and persecution
has escaped
as the serotonin was silenced.
You smile this morning,
shake my hand
and swallow hard.
The agony of each word
visible
on you sullen face.
Swallowing, that simple masticatory endpoint,
now an experiment in razor sharp pain,
testing a man's tolerance for anguish.
We discuss Labrador retrievers
and laugh when you mention your wife's
love of animals and your love of Nascar.
Yet as the humor subsides,
the chuckle turns to tears,
as you speak of family
and "helplessness,"
as the disease and its treatments
have ravaged your body
and stolen your mind.
Holding onto each moment,
it seems is all you can bare.
We sit silent
my head nodding in agreement
"that this sickness sucks."
Those words hang above
for minutes it seems.
You speak of hope
as I leave the room,
to continue the rounds,
and I hope too,
that I will see you again
tomorrow.
