They are dying, she is dying,
I pray that she does, but I don't want to watch.
The door was barred, perhaps from letting life in,
or maybe letting death out.
Down the hall all the doors are open, and decomposition hits you,
in all its stages like a film reel.
Her room was by the dying one, my ears perched along the doorframe
and listened.
She was like a prophet, and upon her altar she screeched,
"DIE...DIE...DIIIIIIE!" I think she is right.
The passage continues and all around the images are swept,
left under soiled carpets and linens, hundreds of them.
They carry the dead away, but the scent lingers like cheap perfume,
a priceless perfume.
There's that silence again, the one I like you know? Yes, it covers your head like the goodbye sheets.
Objects get wider and clearer, life is sucked into a needles eye,
the view is breathtaking.
It's simple; breathing is simple, even on that machine its oh so simple.
That's how you live and tell your stories to the people on the television show because they have the time to listen.
There is no one else here. Except me, watching you and waiting.
I can't stay here with you. I have to share my visit with those running out on their clocks.
I know you see me when they give you your medicine,
somewhere between awake and asleep.
I'm glad you don't turn away, so many of you turn away.
Mildred two doors down said goodbye, she was a hard case.
I came and she cried, she cried some more and then she gurgled.
She heard me collect her memories and she said she understood.
A smile before her eyes rolled back forever.
Today is special for you Tom, you and I have gotten to know each other.
I am going to miss the way you welcomed me in, just like a star.
You are one of the bright ones, and you faded slow.
Those silly screens are messing up our act, Tom.
The ladies are running past me, they don't even see.
They are trying to keep you going with life you don't need.
I saved you til' the end, and right along the breeze,
I hear you thanking me.