A War Beneath Skin
Cells held secret ballots in my bones,
voting for mutiny in whispers.
Cancer, that drunk architect,
scribbled collapse into my blood's blueprint.
They built black gardens in my lungs,
where breathing became a treasonous act.
Tumours whittled my ribs into broken bridges,
pinned eviction notices on my veins.
Every chemo drip was a gamble—
waging war against a traitor
that wore my own face.
Hair fell like forgotten promises.
This was no battle to win;
only a siege to outlast.
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