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.
