I've made my peace with angels and demons alike, I've given my notice so people know this may be thee end of my life. There's only one thing I haven't stopped doing, that's fight. I take the medicine, sometimes in strife. I let them insert the poison that feels like a knife. I've let my hair fall to the ground and cried. I've yelled and screamed and swung until the tears sting. Saying something isn't fair doesn't make it better, it won't take it away or make it hurt less. Nothing will make it right. Cancer. 6 letters. 6 simple measly letters, in others words I guess they're alright, but when formed in this way.. Hatred. I fight until I can't. What other options are there? Die? That's the only other option, but I can't let my mind be clouded. That's not an option in my book. My doctor cried and jumped up and down when he told me my cell count lowered, I was confused at first until I realized, he doesn't want to loose me any more than I want to be lost.. Fight. Fight. ****. Cancer.


Riah

Fireflies fill my mind, sparkling, glowing dark beauty. Visions of them stay so long, joyful singing dark songs. Oh poet, why not any better traits? Words and rhymes on top of many mistakes. My mind shines, but not the same as yours, a poet in life, a poet at birth. Oh dear poet keep your head out from the clouds, but that's where I feel most at home, with my pen and my paper, my words can explode. How can someone truly love a poet? I ask myself everyday, college and sincerity, oh what a struggle they play. He kisses my skin, deep and passionate, but never does he make me feel as good as I do when I write, I write about him. The sparkle in his eyes, but that's all I do, write and write and write. How hard it must be to love a poet like me. With my head in the clouds and the fireflies I let dance in my mind.

I've felt the pain, I've held it in my hands.
I've wished it all away, I've prayed for life and death.
I've caressed the bruising, the bleeding, the burning inside.
Sometimes I wish for dying, other I'd give anything to feel alive.  
Breathing in becomes a chore, is there something wrong with not wanting to be in pain anymore?
Leukiemia. You are the monster under my bed. You're the evil voices that echo in my head. You're the scraped knee that just won't heal, the love I cannot feel.
You've torn me down. You've made me question my faith. But there's something you didn't know, you've also made me better. You've made me stronger. To feel the pain of a human being is a ******* honor! You try to destroy me, inside and out, one strike, two strike, I'm out. What you don't know leukemia, is I have no plans to let you win, you entered my body when I didn't want to let you in, but I'll fight until you're out, every day if I must. Remission isn't an option. It's a must.


Riah

Deep breath in, smooth breath out. It'll stop burning. It has to. It can't burn the whole time right? Treatment 1 was a success? The boy across from me is staring. His hair is gone. Please God. This isn't happening. Not to me. Not to normal life living me. It's still burning. What the ****. It shouldn't still be burning. Richard. His name is Richard. His laugh is contagious. TreAtment 2 a success? Richards hair is gone. He thinks it's funny. Please God. Not me. Why does it always burn. Can someone get used to this kind of pain? There's no way. Ugh. Rantings of a medicated cancer patient. Super great. God this hurts. Treatment 3? Ok. Richard is gone.. The nurse won't talk about it. All she said is his suffering is over. Why does she talk to me like I'm a child? Or like in not mentally capable of excepting death?! At least he no longer burns! I'm angry. It hurts. Why me is all I can ever think. When they insert this stupid needle into my pump, I feel it immediately take over me. I feel the pain. I feel the complete and total lack of control. Maybe I want to be like Richard..



Riah