Here’s the Bell

He had trouble swallowing

after the radiation

fried his esophagus

like a piece of bacon

inside his body

where the cancer busily

went about its mission of death.


Trouble eating, trouble breathing,

trouble, even, drinking tiny sips of water.


His strength waned quickly

like a moon that has had enough

of the sun’s brightness

and so creeps away to the dark side of itself.


His energy was all but depleted

after the radiation

punched him in the chest

for fifteen days of torture

like a prize fighter

that only cares about the cash

and so beats unmercifully upon whomever

is thrown into the ring.


The radiation nearly ruined him,

yet, still, he opted for the poison.


The liquid metal chemo

poured into his veins,

destroying all it touched

without discernment, without logic,

without rational wisdom, without

a care in the fucking world.


Yes, he opted for the poison –

a decision which ultimately

cost him his life,

but awarded the prize fighter a pretty good pay day.

by Scott Thomas Outlar

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