Patience for the epigrammatic, but brief

Congratulations to the dry eyes
Consolations to the nice guys
And condensation’s on the underside of everything I touch
I seem to chill the objects that I meant so much to love
A man can keep you sane five-hundred-and-fifty days
A year and a half, give or take an afternoon
We should have sooner left the train but we made it
I guess that makes us the survivors
Tumor blooming in my brain, I hate it
But it makes the colors brighter
So fight the anesthesia, spite the man that leaves you
Like the sad disease you contracted while sitting boring and bored
Come back with the lab report
Your nervous disorder
Only the rich are afforded

About Mark