punches, fights to stay
in the host.
It will take my intestines with it, if
A toxic concoction splatters and
the mass is shown to me.
Unhinging malformed arms and legs so the
joints move backwards and forwards.
Dribbling puss from curled lips onto
If I would have killed it sooner.
I wish I had.
Please find “Birthing a Sarcoma”, a poem about surviving cancer: