Quick

Quick


 

Your husband remains ill
Has the speed of four men and the sense of half
His fast pace makes you pissed
His quick mind makes you rich
Yet his manic legs never still and
You do not enjoy this wealth

It’s love, you say
Love for the best
Clothes, the best stories
The grand house and greater envy
You drape around yourself
Life much better than expected but
Why not perfection?

You tell me my job
Add another addiction
To cure all his others

My power to say no is all I have
But you may find a way to yes
A way to kill most softly;
He will not see your hand

You will be rich and free
Nurse him till the end
Will you tell him then?

Posted in Medicine.