Terms!

With a gun to his head,
he turned off his brain,
which also turned off all
the fear, guilt and pain;
there's no way that he
could go through it again;
you had to know when it was over.

When the cancer came back
he bought a cigar;
lit up in the doctor's
and savored the tar.
He remembered the teacher
who'd said, 'You'll go far';
not much of a prophet, that bollocks!

The doctor leaned forward;
'Now listen, with luck...'
'Don't give me that crap doc,
I don't give a fuck;
I've used it all up by now
and this time, it's stuck,
I don't have the space left for bullshit'.

He asked him the question;
'How long have I got?'
He read the expression;
'I guess, not a lot.
Don't look all embarrassed...
No, I don't need a shot.'
At least not the one that you're offering.

He wrote all the letters,
he needed to write
and he tried to explain -
without sounding too trite -
that by choosing his time,
he was winning this fight;
his dignity, would not be forfeit.