WAITING ROOM

Esther Gough

For as long as you can remember
A small tumour of darkness has lain within you.
It’s benign, it doesn’t mean to kill,
But it has grown, from the pit of your stomach.
It’s in your heart now, hitchhiking your neurons,
On the way to your head. 

You never thought it was fair
Seeing your friends cry over boys,
Anxious about test scores, red ink on paper.
Why did they get heartbreak and academic anxiety?
Why did you get this growing tumour?
Maybe it’s penance, maybe it’s just dumb luck.

Whatever the case, it ages you rapidly,
Fear creases your cheeks and forehead,
Memories concave your under eyes,
Pain tattoos your cheeks.

You’re stuck between not wanting to die
Yet not quite wanting to be alive,
Stuck in a sick form of mental purgatory.

The tumour shackles you to the ground.
You’ll spend your life trying reach the key.

But every once in a while, the tumour stays static
And you almost feel free.