Speak of It

We, who are chronically ill, do not
speak of it, do not speak of death.

There are millions lost before, the vast company
of the dead. This knowledge reduces my terror

of nothingness. I know it is normal to feel what I feel.
But we do not speak of it. Instead, discussion

revolves around the lives of others, their activities.
Or, we briefly mention my infections, medical

appointments. But we do not speak of death, do not speak
of fear. I remain intact, composed, knowing how it will all

end, while wanting to scream. Everyone knows how it will
end, thinking but never admitting they are glad it is me,

and not them. I am intent upon surviving as long as I can,
with pain, energy disappearing, body parts dissolving.

I remain focused, stay calm in the moments that do not
seem to end. But will.