Like a begger on the street with low self esteem,
I look up to passersby hoping for alms.
Two great forces rivaling for the outer part of me.
White blood cell failing, not perfect, so human, so mortal.
If possible, take this cup of suffering off me.

Who am I to condemn what exists before me?
What am I to curse what shed light to my path?
A lesser light yet, with great significance.
Why do I split inside of me?
Why do I feel so incomplete?

Trapped between the trees,
The full moon smiled as...