These are tears - mascara stained tears. You know when the rain is really pelting at the window? well, that's how I would like to be able to cry when I think of my cancer. But I never seem to be able to.

You asked me to go down a corridor and there I would find a door with cancer written on it. You asked me to open the door and look inside.

Well, my corridor is a dank and dingy earthy pit - I've been down here before during the time I was ill and I never want to go there again!

The door I have to bolt shut and hammer bars and big nails across it so the cancer can't escape. The grey hands are the cancer, trying to crawl out. They terrify me - if they get out they will get me.