They say the man died from complications.
Time did not heal, it only made it worse.
Deadly infectious, devastation, death.
It flowed from his heart, arteries and veins.
An external wound wreaked havoc inside.
A shock to his system. Felt the first time.
Allergic to a cure that won’t heal him.
Broken again by underlying cause.
He was too weak to begin. Now he’s lost.
Feverish. Advancements came much too late.
Another victim. Supposedly fate.
His skin would rot, and pieces went missing.
He was blinded by unknown memories.
The zenith brought him abruptly to end.
His will stopped flowing, forced him to resign.
You could see it in his face. A trapped man.
Everyone else had health, while he withered.
He numbed himself, drank down the problem.
Until his organs failed to handle it.
He stopped thinking, believing it the cause.
Too much fluid on the brain; cleansing smarts.
Susceptible to sudden paradox.
Wantonness wandering, writing the wrongs.
No one can contain acquiescence of hope.
Could you really blame a terminal man?