Not that kind of a machine

I know the human body is a machine,

Like a car with a petrol tank and exhaust pipes,

Convex radiators and connecting wires,

But please let my body not be that kind of a machine,

Let my body not be fixed with feeding tubes through my ribs and nose,

Let my body not be pumped with oxygen like a car tyre.

Like a speeding car getting out of control,

Let my body cells not grow and multiply uncontrollably,

Let my body not grow tumors, malignant or begnin,

I do not want my body to be that kind of a machine,

To be radiated with ultraviolet light or x-rays,

To be injected with concoctions of chemicals,

Chemicals which make my body to turn yellow and my lips to crack.

Like a paint peeling off from an old, rusty car,

Do not allow my hair to peel off my from head,

Do not allow my chest to clog like a broken exhaust pipe,

To make me exhale a long, whooping and dry cough,

Like the scrap metals of an unroadworthy vehicle detained and forgotten in a garage,

Do not allow my bones to pierce through my skin,

Do not detain my skeletons in an ICU.

Do not let my breast rot,

So that, like an old worn-out tyre, it is scooped out and replaced with a synthetic material,

Do not let my veins rupture and push out the blood through my mouth,

Like a leaking petrol tank,

Do not let my body be subjected to mechanical manipulations,

No, not that kind of therapy,

I do not want my body to be that kind of a machine.

(image credits: www.americannursetoday.com)