Moving On

There are tendrils of my rusted bone left,
that hold you in place-
like silver on a ring.
Cancer diamond,
you are.

You dont love me.
You're not even voluntarily here
in my body.
Yet, you're killing me.
Love rises like fluid in my lungs and
I cant breathe, from wanting you
so much, so much.
Like air.
I've been smoking way too much,
but it will be this unrequited love
and you,
you,
my love from Shangri-La
that will end me.

Medicines and memory, cannot exorcise you,
when I can not even
take you off that pedestal
in my thoracic cavity.
And there is no one,
to help knock you off it.

So please, trip and fall.

The bile in my stomach
will make quick work of you.