It starts with headaches, goes to migraine. 'Till the pain is to powerful for the pills to work. You can feel something's wrong and doesn't want to wake up to face the truth.
It starts with one doctor appointment to once a week for chemotherapy. Your hair falling out until it's all gone, none left.
It starts with a cold and ends in the hospital bed, your family around for the last talk. The couple goodbyes and sorrowful looks, pity entering their faces as they look in your eyes when you close them for the last time.
It starts with the mortician hands and then the prayers, rest in peace's and second goodbyes in the open cast. Before you know it your underground and the roses or spades of dirt are let down together with sentimental words.
The ground and brain cancer got the last of you, and now it's my turn to go. We all wish we went a better way.
