The Act

A twelve inch
Sutured surgical wound
Someone so angry
With you
They brutally block
Your dreams
And yank a secure rug
From beneath you
Yet still want you
With a canister
Of chemo
Hanging from their chest
Despite entreaties
Use no protection
So you get
Your own little dose
And its implications
Finally
So despondent
Just the thought
Of affection
Provokes waves
Of tears and trembling
Only to be suppressed
It's all just an act