A bag of pretty words,
a bag of bad predictions,
a bag to help the poor
instead of benediction -

My hands shake when I reach in,
I tense up waiting for an answer,
but I know benediction
can't help in case of cancer.

I talk to you with mask on,
the one who talks ain't me.
I'm but a tool that cancer
has sharpened with a creed.

I don't trust that a flashlight
can overturn the sun
but all that creeping darkness
is scary, and you'll run.

I don't have any courage
I don't have any lies
to tell you to comfort you,
yet my truth slowly dies.

...But I have

A bag of pretty words,
a bag of bad predictions,
a bag to help the poor
instead of benediction.

A bag to calm your fears.
A bag of legacies.
A bag to stop the tears.
A bag with hopes of peace.

My brain tells me it's good,
yet my heart swells with heat.
My thoughts get so much food
without the will to eat.

I see masks, I see greed
that drink from all the fears by quenching them with calm.
I see life spring from need,
and I keep questioning me for reasons to be down.

...Yet I keep drawing from

A bag of pretty words,
a bag of bad predictions,
a bag to help the poor
instead of benediction.

A bag to calm your fears.
A bag of legacies.
A bag to stop the tears.
A bag with hopes of peace.