You tell yourself, as you have a cigarette at 1 a.m.
You are awake through the night.
Sleep through the day, sleep through your meals.
Self medicate with your caffeine, your drugs, your sex, your booze, your cigarettes.
Your anxiety should be over by now.
"It's only a dream," you say. "It's only a nightmare," the world replies.
"Why do you smoke?" She asks, she like all the others.
"Why do you kill yourself, slowly, taking the poison drip by drip."
It's chemotherapy for the cancers of my conscience.
If only she knew. She not being alone.
To forget the one, I surround myself with many.
They all see the same thing, the shell of an old soul. Rotting away.
Haunted by a past he keeps living.
Trying to escape the only way he can, by reliving all the same mistakes.
Wishing he could be with her again.
Listen to me reader, and I ask you to listen close.
"Do the chemicals do more killing of the cancer? Or do they simply kill the host?"
Andrew Cox is a young Canadian soldier who is currently deployed. He is dealing with the sons of the past and hoping for a brighter future.