LizCross

Tick, tock, tick, tock

Round and round

Like a clock

Static on a countdown

Anxiety, anticipation

Until three… two… one

Pure white

Maybe, this time –

But the disease forever comes

Gray, black, crawling

Devouring

White roses in black thorns

Death

Shivers, blink

Eyes slowly open

But the room is alive

Silently writhing

With the disease

A scream in my throat

Arrives

But paralysis cages all

The disease brings

Death