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Night Cures All

She cares, you fool, and bares her soul to pay
   her dues, she feels are relevant to give.
You turn, and hide the smirk and start to play
   your party games that never let her live.

What joy! She tears the veil but still it clings
   and scraps of cloth cling to her eyes and tears.
And back, she sees your fisted smile, which brings
   a sort of comforting. A comfort that hears

How she can stand when sleep evades her eyes,
   to be replaced with the sores that ply her apart?
Does movement strain evasion of Goodbye,
   or is her station to nurture your cancerous heart?

The knife slips in a thousand grins, the night
   hears breath return you to a softer light.

- Simon Huggins, 13th February 2002