your mouth tries to form the words that
your brain wants to say but your tongue
is weary and your lungs are just so futile,
working hard to overcome this but
you're exhausted and ready for sleep

cardiac arrest, and they're begging god to take you,
instead of asking you to stay

but you never wanted our pity,
and you never wanted our tears
you just wanted us to pray,
you wanted us to come to jesus
and ask to sit by his hand
but i still flinch whenever i see his palms
i can't stand the sight of blood
i'm afraid of the ocean,
and i'm afraid of the flood

i'd measured out the morphine,
once every other day,
then once a day,
then twice a day
and then every six hours then every four hours then every hour-
and then when you couldn't swallow anymore
we tucked it into your cheek, hoping that
you'd forgive us when we tried to ease your suffering,
and again when you heard our whispered prayers
begging god to take you, instead of asking you to stay