I could start my day with a cold shower to try to rub off the internal sound piercing through my hot, unstable body.:
Covid, Cancer,
Covid, Cancer,
Covid, Cancer,
Covid, Cancer, Cancer.
But no, Cancer vibrates louder in all of me as I prepare get the news. Is it more cancer than six months ago? Or rather yet, is it stable enough cancer to risk virus exposure for over an hour laying on a hospital bed, half-naked, flirtatiously revealing my most vulnerable and attractive body part — the elongated neck?
Or on this day, at 6 am, I could choose to not shower because after our dreaded date, I will still have to wash away the fluid, insoluble fear, and robotic doctors’ strangle marks. Why are the strangle marks always larger than my endearing neck surgery scar? They are also the perfect prerequisites for a virus microcosm.: Oh and I can’t forget to try to wash off the markings embedding the microscopic virus that caused a worldwide pandemic. But the markings never seem fade even, after painfully arduous scrubs. I wonder, what is worse — the cancer or virus? Which could bring alive the peaceful mortality that I deserve? Would the virus’s brevity or cancer’s longevity matter? I guess I could find out and remove all doubts, but there seems to be no more light within me to further investigate…
