Shadows, they creep in.

Old wounds tear open, bone to bone, like open doors being flung apart, shattered.

They darken the trails in the slivers between the flesh, crawl down synapses, from neuron to neuron, vein to vein.

They scour the blood, hounds, sniffing for prey.

Their dark jowls hang torn and gruesome, jaws agape as the stench itself already consumes, acidic, corrosive, deadly.

Chest heaving, as ribs shudder, crack and groan, a feeble cage containing a rearing beast.

Claws tear at lungs and throat, suddenly breath is jagged, wheezing and escaping, unsteady-

Blood grows dark and cold, as the poison seeps from their saliva; phagocytes simmer and die, lymphocytes burn and vanish on the spot.

Head pounds, subtle aches, bruises as they blossom not from blood but from the thoughts, and the shadows they move, they consume-locusts, scavengers, parasites. 

An illness-so to say-a cancer.

Shadows.