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Diagnosis
By Armin Forouzan
(a.k.a. Product)
Here's my final offer My triumph locked her In so she was knocked down By the doctor, doctor He asked her, "Are you sick?" She coughed up silk hearts and frail rose pedals with two lips Painful, she clenched bleeding arms with one and with the other She threw fits so hard she could sing songs with A collapsed lung and paint walls with no appendages Fate is not a merry-go round it is The reality we create when we abbreviate senses Makes sense its, even in our death beds Dream senseless Even in pain, feel passionate Discard apathy, draped in your mistakes You bask in it The doctor asked "Are you sick?" She responds with a silence so loud You can hear echoes after it So loud you can see clouds drift to her rhythm A poem so proud you can see love clinging to the saliva in the chorus of her mouth Drip "Are you scared?" She screams soundless, a sound so powerful it becomes her room's soliloquy She says am I afraid to heal? I say your sickness will heal anyway I caress her cheeks with my hope and douse her life she was prepared to doubt Is she alone? Ease her soul, show her she has someone there for her to care about Give her something meaningful, parading in these lines An effigy providing details in the symptoms of her illness I gave you a hole to fill and I gave you the pain to fill it and I Gave you away I feel it its like you're in denial tell me Are you in denial? Arrest your insecurity and I will be your Prognosis I can be your diagnosis |
