Cancer

Cancer

By: Blakely Mathis

Imagine,

You are walking,

And unbeknown to you,

You are being stalked,

But little do you know the thing creeping up on you

Will cause a much slower death than you have ever thought possible

Little do you know it will drag you into a endless cycle of

Depression, anger, and self-pity

And the only thing you can do is wait

First comes denial,

How could this happen to you?

You thought you were normal…

The vines of the monster caught you by surprise,

And you had no chance to prepare.

Prepare for the pity,

Prepare for the depression,

Prepare for the unanswered questions you ask the doctor,

And prepare for the times sitting alone wondering when it will all stop.

Then anger will consume you,

Anger at the doctors,

Anger at the looks you receive as your hair falls out into clumps on the floor,

Representing the life you used to have.  

Anger at the amount of continued therapy,

Talking can not heal the unhealable.

As the nurses continue to poke your arm with needles,

Inserting mediation that will just make your time worse.

You will start to beg,

Beg for a new life.

AS if you could have done something to prevent yourself from falling victim.

When you had no worries except what to eat the next night,

Now it is just a matter of time,

Relentless time,

As you watch the clock,

That seems to be ticking ever so slowly.

Then an age old enemy starts to attack,

An enemy that is present in almost everyone,

One that preys on your weakest points,

One that targets you and makes everything worse,

As the vines grab at you,

you try to fight,

But it comes in to make your fight less,

You soon stay still as the vines cover you,

Cover your humanity,

Your hope,

And your love.

Then as the vines are almost done,

You see that it is ok…

Just ok…

For it is better to have lived a life,

Than to not live one at all.

My mother fought the vines so desperately,

She got out of its grasp three times,

Until it saw there was nothing more it could do,

So it shrunk back into the darkness,

Leaving her weak and vulnerable.

But she still stood, but she could not fight anymore,

So weak and fragile that

The simplest illness came and took her away.

At the ripe age of 32,

And I only 9.

My Uncle come into contact with the sun,

The man who is like a father to me,

Bared the scars of the battle.

Only to turn around to face a new enemy.

But this time it didn’t scar his skin,

But infected his blood.

He still battles it to this day, as the medicine he is given,

Makes his life more miserable.

He withstands it,

Just so he can live another day with his wife and kids.

Cancer,

It is the root of all evil,

Nobody has a definite cure,

It still comes back whether it is the same,

Or if it is different.

It takes a hold of its host and drains the life out of them,

Till they are ready for death to sweep them up,

In his cold reassuring grasp.