The man waits patiently, twitching his hands every other second
He stands in a strong posture, but his skin is dead white
The look of sadness on his face, echoed by the tears in his eyes
As he thinks it through, he wonders what he could have done differently
Now he looks away every time the patient room door opens
His hair is slowly fading, as he kneels down to pray
He starts to make phone calls, reassuring his family that he is alright
All of the sudden the door opens, He silently looks up as the results are read
His ear tune out the one word that he prayed he would never have to hear.

learning to surrender your body
unwillingly
is not easy.

it feels like you're separating,
body and soul becoming detached.
it's not giving it to your love,
to be cradled in sweet delicate human arms.

instead you feel as though
no human arms can hold you,
because you are a shell corpse
with a conscience and some appearance.
like you're impersonating someone,
with the disease as the main body
human is second in command.

learning to surrender your body
unwillingly
is not easy.

it's learning to be dependent.
it's learning to know you aren't always in control.
it's learning to acknowledge your aren't always okay,
and learning to be okay with that.

I seem to grow in ever direction,
With new branches sprouting from every pore
They do not need the sun
To be true,
They grow faster in its absence.
My photosynthesis feeds so greedily,
It consumes light.
Yet the feast never stops, continues
With invisible source.
Light is the appetizer,
Smiles the side
With darkness bringing
Endless entrees.
Crunch!
Crack!
Snap!
Snacking smacks fill the empty air.
My skin crawls as my mold,
Spreads and consumes.
My own movement sickens me.
I am disease.

Bleed a cold,
Starve a fever,
Pray the plague don't come
Looking for you, unbeliever.

Don't sneeze at disease,
Or stick yourself with an arrow,
Just stack your dead
In the wheelbarrow.