Cancer
My body is the mat
The doctors take out and shake
And prod with pokes and needles
Lying on its back
So wide open to rigors complete
My spirit lives inside this
Atrophy of flesh
Saying, “Why preserve this moth eaten ruin?”
I must abide here longer
Hating this mat, but needing the rental space.
Dilapidated wretch, spirit cave, body bag
Spirit lives
Spirit tires
Spirit gives
Spirit expands
Body dies.
