Today I write.

Today I write,
tomorrow I won't.
For my days fade like a morning mist on a
sunny afternoon,
leaving no mark like a morning dew.
Few months,
"Sorry your brain tumor has grown, wish you
had come early," the doctor says.
I have known it,
but didn't wanna treatment, why change a
history meant to be.
In few months I will be gone,
then you will miss not me but my words.
I don't love anything but myself,
that's enough for me,
for Thee Lord say, you should love thy neighbor
the way you love yourself.
In my world, nothing lasts, not even thy
neighbor, so here I write,
my last message to you.
I wish not to be missed, but my words for
generations shall be,
of the one who died with pride.