This window is my calendar and every sunrise feels like a Monday,
Where every leaf dances to the wind, up and down, in a spiraling parade,
I've grown jealous of the coat on every squirrel and the feather of every bird,
Skittering and fluttering their designs, jumping and flying without any concern.

My one and only attire has a lot to be desired, by comparison to say the least,
And my arms and legs, as numb and limp as stone, just can't even compete,
Although I may be bald, the feeling of standing hair slithers through my skin,
And I can't help but shed tears of joy, despite all this envy I feel within.

I should be running more, over emerald fields of blades, tickling up a smile,
I want new clothes, tighter than mine, that hug like a mother to her child,
I need to get out of this room, far from all these imitation ice cream walls,
Where a sweet aroma actually lingers, like concessions at the mall.

I'm just so sick and tired of all these procedures in my life,
Unable to carve up courage, choosing a needle over a knife,
Never having the literal nerve to just get up and leave,
Drowning in a bed comprised of a salty, sweaty sea.

But Friday is near, nature is there and I am here, a daydreaming accident,
And soon I will be free from all my "brave" and "strong" commitments,
Friday is almost here and I've become so sick that I can barely breathe,
Just one more day of chemo and maybe, just maybe, I'll be free.