Come on, get up, you can't let this break you. Those are the only words that roamed my mind as I stared blank at the night sky. Sleeping cautiously on this pillow of my own illness, I lay there dead and gone. I know that my race with time is at the edge of end stalking the hollow grave which holds my name. At one point in time, all five of my senses were abate. I was a stiff touch, a taste of non existence, an invisible shadow, and a breeze of death. Everything that once functioned, stopped, so I thought. Forbidding my sickness to sign the expiration date for the day of which will be no more, I smile. Suddenly, this warn out heart started to beat again, as if someone had alarmed it. Alarmed it for a battle, alarming it for war, because this time my body was going to fight. I stabbed pain in the back, shot depression in the face, and stepped on deaths' pride. Breathing heavily I finally exhale in exhaustion. That was the moment I decided to live and overcome my illness. Come on, get, you can't let this break you. I refuse to let my last words be, I should've. It didn't break me, because, I did.