Poems based on The Fault In Our stars, By John Gree

Okay.

Okay.

 

 

He died eight days after his pre-funeral,  

When the cancer, which was made of him,

           Finally stopped his heart,

Which was also made of him.

When the news finally came,  

It was like a frozen knife, stabbing me.

The cold seemed to be growing throughout my body,

            But I noticed my own physical pain,

Less and less.