Running Backwards

Running backwards time is, still
And then he realises he remains undeserving
A natural disaster, wreckage of a person,
but born perfect in every visible way.
His cancer is not physical, his ways not healthy at all.
His mind an eternal countdown clock,
until life chooses to expire.
Tumorous ego, his heart swollen and unspoken,
in a socially acceptable and perfectly fitting vessel.
A cryptic design, mind and flesh coming undone.

She sends her love through postcards and leftover notes,
trying to fill in the void.
As if it could ever heal...