Lung Cancer

I'm blowing out turquoise ash and fuchsia cigarette smoke as I sit by the ocean and think of your aqueous eyes. You've become my main cause for the lung cancer that I constantly breathe in and out, and there's no stopping its infectious spread. My vital signs drop by the day, yet all I do is take puff following puff every moment I am given the chance. You will not be the death of me; you already are the death of me, but I don't mind it one bit. I don't mind it at all because I'm sure that with my death will stroll my dreams of shine and glamour; with my funeral will come my fame. I pull in the poison into my system, yet I feel no intoxication; I feel only freedom as it hastes alongside my nerves. You are my lung cancer, you are my distress, you are my death, but nonetheless, you remain to be my love under all circumstance. You are my lung cancer, but dying because of you is an honorable cause. You are my lung cancer, but when I was diagnosed, the physicians mentioned nothing of sooted muscle or black cells; they detected only colors of the light spectrum being reflected even under x-ray emissions. You are my lung cancer, but it seems that with you will not come death and an end; it seems with you comes life, even under a surgeon’s table, or even underneath soil. Perhaps I will grow out to be something beautiful. 

27/02/2015