Memere, you're not gone yet, but you're nearly as far.
You can fight this; we're waiting for you.
It's okay to worry, Memere, we all are.
Memere, diagnosed or not, you're still here - you're still fighting, still breathing like it's your last. Time is ticking away, and you're slipping away so far.
Are you going to try to save yourself, or are you just going to accept it? That's not you.
Fight it, fight them; the army of Death inside of you that want to destroy your golden personality. They make you tired, weak, cough - sick. Don't let them take you over, fight them. You in a boxing ring, that's a funny sight to see,
but I'm not laughing,
not this time.
Come out from your shell, fight those uncontrolled cells.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, Memere.
It's dark and you're really late for supper.
(Your pineapple ham was always my favourite.)
