No pseudonyms.

I prefer to remain anonymous.

The disease I'm dying from isn't anonymous.

Its the name playing upon everyone's lips that's barely

utterable lest the stark reality of the disease seizes the

consciousness.

It's not that I'm ashamed.

I'm not.

It's just that I don't want my family to suffer.

They've done enough of that.

I'm dying.

The words roll easily off my tongue now.

In the beginning there was morbid fear and shock.

Dying.

The end.

The final chapter in the book called life.

The pages seem to flutter by as when the fingers skip

daintily across the pages when they're turned.

Most popular. Most athletic.

Means nothing now.

I've become an empty shell of the person I once was.

So many things important then have no bearing on my life now.

Am I foolish to envy those healthy lithe bodies that I glimpse

only through that cold hollow picture tube I stare at so

blankly?

Am I foolish to be incensed at those same who pollute mind

and body with poisons and abuses?

If only the reason to confess is to warn others so be it.

You must understand the disease I carry in my poison riddled

body has no preference.

It cares not of your color, religion or class.

It delights in penetrating your body to envelope your insides

with its twisted brand of torture.

Nobody lives forever I've discovered.

But only for another year.