Cancer Poem by Bruno Bloodsworth

My blood smells of rotten flesh
my breath of rotting meat
and my voice sounds of the deads bust
My skin resembles a dried fruit and my bones seem to be made of dust.

This dark hole in my chest, which seems to have a small flame burning deep inside, has been slowly but surely devouring my heart.

These dark veins in my arms and legs, resembling roots of a tree,
have been growing outwards from my body and taking over my life, indeed.