I refuse to give up bleakness which becomes my badge. Pompeii is flickering on my favorite channel showing ancient deaths. Mine is closer. A sentence is what I always wanted, not sudden departure without farewells. My volcanic ash is disease.
Life can stop by a doctor's prediction.
But I move days backwards, and smile at those who watch me. Strength becomes air I breathe. Light colors my skin, rosy, and fragrant with health. Greyness outside is only temporary. Your chart is closed, the victim of surgery.