She says, “Be of good cheer.  You are sick,
But not dead.”  I look at her quizzically.
“If I was dead, I would not be tormented
By this runny nose, by the aches in my body,
The rattling cough.  I'd be perfectly peaceful,
Supine on a slab to be drained of my fluids
Or pushed into flames.  Though you and some
Others might lament my passing, I wouldn't.
I couldn't, and, honestly, darling, the end
Of existence seems somewhat appealing,
Compared to my illness and pain.”