A Sick Love
I love you, but I can't touch you.
I love you, but I can't be with you.
Why? I'm a dead man walking,
Get too close, and you're a dead woman talking.
AIDS is what it's called.
That's a joke if I ever heard one.
AIDS? Aids what, exactly?
Aids death? Aids misery? Aids anything but the two of us?
I love you, but I can't love you.
I love you, so I won't hurt you.
So, as I lie here, looking in your green eyes,
Diagnosed with "Terminal Pneumonia,"
I stroke my fingers through your red hair,
I have the strength to say one thing.
"Goodbye,"
Gathering tears make your eyes sparkle as you smile.
"Not 'Goodbye.' 'See you later.' I'm not immortal, you know."
A light chuckle escapes me as my vision starts to blur.
Just before the breathing machine starts beeping,
I hear you say one last thing to me,
"I love you."
The world goes quiet. Everything turns black,
And I leave my body, leaving you behind.
But I don't leave forever.
I will see you again, my love.