I don’t think you’ll know
how hard it is right now
to get these messages
from your hands

In your sterilized
clear and white cave
with machines strung to your arms
like stalactites

Tubes slowly dripping water
into plastic veins
protruding
invading and penetrating
with hypodermic needles

The bruises are as pretty
as you say
they are
a palette of
clotted blood and holes

You shouldn’t think about
the constant beeping of
the life machines
or the intrusions of nurses

I’d bring paint to
decorate your
paper gown
and I would like to read
to you
because those words
are blocked
in your confused and delirious
and ill and unfortunate mind

It’s difficult to watch
just last week we were
lying on my bed
with the fan blowing

We were falling away
or maybe it was just me
You didn’t talk as much
maybe that was because
my hands were around
your neck

Part of you is dying
it’s going to stay with you
in that ugly cave
in that ******* hospital
like a rope around your throat
and you just can’t seem to
untie that ******* noose