Her eyes are so deep set now that in a certain light they are just holes in her face
She is so thin now from the chemotherapy her skin seems little more than an empty balloon stretched over her skeleton and tied off at the scalp, to keep what’s left of her from falling out
She shakes so bad now that she needs assistance to cease the drought on the jagged landscape of her lips
Now, her days are spent in an endless sleep punctuated by a waking sleep in which she does a lot of staring at walls and vomiting
That waking sleep, or living nightmare, is itself punctuated by the occasional friend come to mourn at the gravemarker that is her hospital bed She now has sympathy for the zombie knowing what it’s like to be dead and alive at the same time
She thinks, if she had the energy, she might bite people too just to remind them that she’s still here