Wringing my hands,
As I walk down the hall,
Supressing the nausea,
My nails dig deep,
Through my soft wrists,
As I reach his door,
I hold my breath,
My heart pounds dangerously,
When I see him,
Surrounded by crisp white pillows,
And blue sheets,
He looks dead,
My mind screams,
I long to rip down the walls,
He murmurs,
Indeciferable words,
His voice rusty and unused,
I'm so scared,
Almost too scared to embrace him,
I think he might break,
The adults mummble,
Attempting to conceal,
The devestating topic of conversation,
Plans, decisions,
So many to be made,
I stifle the urge to cry,
We are all so empty,
And he is dying