Poem

This Lump

Statistics are cold comfort in the ache of night

Photo by Vlad Kutepov on Unsplash

I hate the law of averages
a summation to divide
the rattling fears that curl
a growing lump inside

A statistical anomaly
always the only one
short straw drawn unexpectedly
and now the deal is done

Played these cards so handily
rules followed, dotted i’s
but a cruel hand stealthy dealt to me
wrapped death in health’s disguise

Epistolary darkness
visits ghosts on thee
with words of my lost glory
a postscript writ by silenced pen

my love,
from purgatory

© Aspen Blue

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