Doctor,

look down my endless throat. It wants light but how unnatural it would be to shine one on it. Deep down dark bile bubbles, threatening to surface.

In my throat there is tension and torture and swollen glands. At the bottom there is a frustrated heart. It is self-aware and stronger now. But it has filled the peaceful void.

My body has experienced life's natural realities and unnatural abuses. I have treated it to smoky extravagances and burning ravages. And I hope that one day it will forgive me for excess.

Already a green moss flourishes on once barren surfaces. Life grows where sterility provoked death. I see new promises sprout anew.

My prognosis is positive; what is yours, doctor?