Is a peculiar and complex
Disease.
A corrupted cell
Your immunity missed—
Missed out of all the ones
It had destroyed.
One cell slipped by
And multiplied.
Complexity–
Of multiple factors
Environmental and habits
As well
but–Genetics…
It is simply the biology attacking itself
Malicious or benevolent
Truly a draw
The complexity–is
How hard it can be
To treat it–cure it
Survivable now, but
Not without complications
An unfair trade off.
Sometimes, it is the medicine
That could kill you.
Cancer
Can be slow
But when it's aggressive
It shows
With violent symptoms
And x-rays
Showing an
Ever growing
And progressive
Tumors
Elsewhere
And protruding
Everywhere…
And then…
The suffering…
Ends…
…
About the Creator
R.R.Hannaman
I have been writing a lot of stories and poems for a long time. It is nice to have a place to share it. I like to write about varying topics in my poem. I am constantly working on my world building and stories about my world Avaboya.
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More stories from R.R.Hannaman and writers in Poets and other communities.
I Am a Prisoner who Dreams of Prisons
The dream always starts the same: I feel the cold bite of wind gnawing through clothes entirely inadequate to protect from the weather and I realize I am standing in line. Ahead of me and behind me are other inmates, identified by the burgundy scrubs we were issued upon arrival. I don't know where we're going.
By Kyle Cejka3 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Totally agree with sometimes it's the medicine that kills us