Maybe dying young is all for the best

it’s always peaceful here
in the wasteland of my head
where thoughts of love and death and everything else that matters
and even more things that don’t
swirl and mix and become
songs
letters
poetry
text messages proclaiming my feelings, that I never ever send
I wonder if it will stay this way
or if my words will fade over the course
of the many years to come
will the cancer (literal)
and the cancer of just aging (metaphorical)
eat away until I can’t make you
turn your head
with just my words and a smile
will I be my mother
writing about my sickness
and my garden
will I still be able to write about love
and making love
and you
for now it’s peaceful here
but if there is anything
you taught
that I cared to remember
it is that nothing stays the same forever
and peace
can turn to a battle for your life and mind
so quickly