The hospital took his smell away                  
***** him of his humanity        
Stripped him of his identity
White sheets, too clean
If he could he'd take paint &    
Splash it on the walls, on the  
perfect cracks on the ceiling
he'd run down the silent hallways      
impersonating a banshee    
reveling in each breath that he took    
but the plague came & took his breath away
his face blends in with his starchy pillow
the hospital vines are curling up
his legs now & his face is                    
weathering like his Ophelietic bed    
wherein he drowns, never dreaming
They roll him away now                                    
Down the hall                                          
Towards the elevator light;      

He has lost this fight.