Sitting on the edge of the bed,
Un-made twisted sheets,
Muttering to myself,
picking at the scabs under my lily-white purified skin
wondering when the door will come crashing in.
Knowing I’ve only a few moments,
Time with my crucifix, moments with my notepad
Before the time slips beneath the door and invites the others in.
****** knuckles, parched lips,
The compounded inhaled taste of her hips,
Dripping through the catheter,
tiny atoms of my being wrestling for space.
I’ve finished this course of treatment,
The next week will bring more pills, extra tubing
Lack of hope in plain sight