My skin is chapped and fading away.
All these things; the cards, the flowers, everything; they are idle objects. They mean nothing to me.
I grasp the edges of the hospital gown and gently moan out a noise of disgruntlement.
Everyone always wanted to be hairless; their legs and arms to be as smooth as a baby's. Who would have known that the loss of my hair would destroy me a little more?
Although, I felt almost as of a weight had been lifted off of me; there is no need to look attractive when you're time is nearing.
YOU ARE READING
Cancer
Historia CortaA quick thing I wrote because MCR was stuck in my head. Separated into at most, page-long chapters because why not.