You know that
something has gone
horribly awry..
when on your name day
even king of all the jokers
doesn’t make you laugh..
but rather cry.
And curls your lips
into a bitter frown
and not a joyful smile.

You may as well
call off the court
physicians..
for, they only know
the art of curing
bodily afflictions
with a rigid
set of symptoms..
those that may be spoken of
by the afflicted..
if not exhaustively
then at the very least in part..
What good are they
at curing ailments that afflict
the heart of hearts?

The silent killers,
veiled behind
their shadowy
cloaks..
the ones that
make us see
a mortal threat
inside a joke.
The ones
whose names
have made
their squatter’s home
inside our mouth.
They pull upon
the very tip of our tongues..
but we can never seem
to spit them out.

The curse that ails you
is the most unfortunate
of all.. indeed.
It is the bitter taste of
unrequited love disease.
The One that torments us
with all the words we wish
we could take back..
and all the words we wish
we had another chance
to say.

There is a cure for it,
however, so be not afraid.
And truly, truly I tell thee,
cast out thy fears..
Here is thy medicine,
my little sparrow,
hearken unto me
so you may hear..

Forget me.
And for all the rest
of life
pretend that I was
never real.
Before you know it,
through the power
of thy faith alone
at once thou shalt
be healed.