The sickness

Once upon a time
I lived like all the others
I call myself a young boy named Roy
I played in the streets with my brand new toy
It wasn't really new
It was ball made of rags
For my Mother was barely paid
We were poor so very poor.
I was the boy that knocked on the doors begging for money from strangers.
Not worrying about any dangers.
But I had a disease.
I did not know.
At the time no cure for it.
I was to die without knowing it.
I knew there was something wrong with me.
No one else coughed up blood and was so pale like me.
At times I would faint.
Why I did not know.
My Mother said "It's just a small sickness. It doesn't harm you at all."
But every now and then the doctor she would call.
I didn't know I was dieing.
All this time my mother was lying.
I lived a poor life.
Knocking for money at doors.
I lived poor and died poor, I died at the age of 9.
No matter how many times I would ask my Mother would just say I'm fine.
But here I am dead.
A ghost I am.
Knocking on doors but there's nobody there.
Some people look worried and some are just scared.
Some are hard of hearing so they really didn't care.
I died of the cholera disease.
Where you cough up blood.
You also turn pale and you dig your own grave for they will not bury you.
My mother dug a grave.
A grave behind the house.
No tomb but oh well.
No one knew of the boy named Roy, who didn't go to school and had a very poor toy.
So I guess it's alright.
It doesn't really matter.
My life is just the same although I'm already dead.
Doors slamming at my face when I wasn't even dead.

Note: I just noticed that I messed up! This was suposed to be set back quite some time and I said that his mother would CALL the doctor! Well think of it as in calling out his name or something that makes sense. :)