21 July 2012
Bones jutting through the skin.
Friend... When did you grow so thin?
Eyes sunken and dark with fear.
You're ill aren't you? No answer its clear.
Tiny little lips, eyes dull no sheen.
I only hope, you've enjoyed what's been.
Will you last the week? The month? The year?
I'll hope you recover, so I won't shed a tear.
Illness • Opuss № I