Terminal

They put me in machines

and tell me it will be okay

but it won't.

I'm stage four.

Terminal.

I've reached the point of

No return.

Day by day I wait

Pointlessly.

There are no miracles

other than the sweet release

of sleep.

Radiated like a bomb

I lay in bed,

head throbbing with meds

to keep me high.

This isn't treatment:

its torture.

There is no therapy:

its useless.

I want to go home;

far,

far

away from here.

I'm...

...feeling tired.

Let me sleep now.