Cancer, a mutant cell, a stain on life,
remission can go for years,
and give you some time,
to enjoy your life,
but one day, it rears its crown,
and your finis is on the horizon.
Once you've been diagnosed,
you will never be free,
marked like a permanent stain,
on a shroud of cloth,
your life is etiolated,
and we pray for remission and peace.
Someday, there will be a cure,
a lasting luxuriate that lures,
until that epoch blossoms,
pray for the past one's misfortune,
because before thee perished,
a measure of hell hath they endured!
Razorblade © 2012