My cancer is like a friend who screens me from those parts of the world from which I choose to disengage.
My cancer is like a business suit investing me with formal propriety.
My cancer is like an old pet, whose every inarticulate grunt and sigh I understand perfectly.
My cancer is like a cloak of invisibility which hides me from those I choose to avoid.
© 2002-2017 Mark Phillips.
All rights reserved.
This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.
"Blogging as Cubism" explains.
Published 1/04: Big Bridge.
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