"I hope to go just like my father did...
the final falling into aleep.
There is no need to carry on and weep."

She chases red-haired children 'round the floor...
awake, responsive, dreaming...
O2 low.
She falls into the air, a bruise to show-
swears she will not do that anymore.

She's addicted to the pump that gives her breath-
totally aware of her impending death...
(does she know I would take it if I could?)

Her lonely days in springtime haze,
window-watching birds...
in black and red, the records kept
of her final words.

A daughter, corporation-owned,
fear from far away...
one reduced to part-time job,
surviving day to day.

My sister/crutch, to whom I clutch
as I limp through the mess...
my lover and an angel
who guide me through the stress...

"You'll wake one morning to find me dead",
words to me, tonight, she said...

I wake all night and hit the light
to watch her chest rise and fall.

(Does she know I would take it if I could..?)