She lays in stillness, weak and worn,
Her body is frail, her spirit torn.
A pounding deep inside her head,
A quiet pull, a thread of red.

But when she lets the fear unwind,
Her bones stretch out in beautiful lines.
The rupture blooms, her form distorts,
A dance of flesh in shapes redefined.

No sickness now, no need to stay,
She lets her body melt away.
Her veins expand, her skin gives way,
The sickness blooms, and she does not sway.