In your Brain

There’s a disease in your brain, and that means that nothing will ever be the same.

I saw you putting your keys into the bowl of avocados, and when I told the doctor she upped your dose.

But that never helps like it should, does it?

And you sleep through the days the way you used to sleep through the nights, and instead of hosting dinner parties you get into fights.

There’s a disease in your brain, and that means that life is about to get a bit insane.

You told me there’s monsters under the beds, and made us stay up half the night wearing soup pans on our heads.

I’m sorry I was late that day, because it all got too too much and I wanted it all to just go away.

But you can’t get away from it, can you?

You said if it ever got too bad you’d give yourself the chop, but I love you and I don’t want to see your head on the block.

And when we had to move you into that cold house of a hundred cold faces, I wished we could have taken you to see more places.

When the nurses looked colder than the stone walls and the doors are numbered inmates, I hope they don’t blame you when you break the dinner plates.

The stairs are locked and there’s no way down, but from what I can see there’s no way up and no way to turn it all around.

The disease is still in your brain, and that means things aren’t ever going to be the same.

I wish I could turn back the clock to when the walls weren’t cold and time could stop,

But our god isn’t a kind one, is it?

I wish you could remember our faces and how to tie our shoelaces.

I wish you could remember teaching little Susie to swim, or giving birth to a son and raising him.

I wonder if you’d be proud, or if you’d just be thinking you’re ready for your shroud.

If there is a way to tell I’m afraid for now we’re stuck- and when the NHS goes bankrupt I’m afraid we’re clean out of luck.


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