Why do I feel pg13 in a rated R world?? Who made this self-deprecating, loner laying in his bed on a Saturday night?? For the answers are lost just as my mind races to the start. And the slight, smug smile that comes to my lips is not from you. It's from me. Of how I felt, which, by definition, has nothing to do with you. And as the battery on my netflixing iPad dies, I'm painfully reminded of one thing: if I don't experience the world, I'll only write what I read. And who needs another mind numbing saga, when you can have glitter??
I know how this should be: I've seen it, you see, In soap operas, Movies. Your eyes are closed, As if in sleep. Perfect peachy skin Atop a snow white pillow Under flawlessly matched sheets. The heart monitor, Quiet bleeps. The ventilator, A steady hiss. None of that is this. Your eyes Stuck open Seeing without sight Yellow sclera Dumb tears streaming. Tubes, taped to your face Delicate skin torn Where nurses Repositioned them To feed you To heal you You never liked being told What to do. Your whole torso spasms Spastic, Every 40 seconds. A machine Forces your lungs to act. Your hands are warm From hemodialysis But don't respond When we each grab one Give it a kiss. We spend the day Brushing your hair Telling stories Singing songs. Praying prayers. You're not there. Hospital staff Are more lovely If less pretty Than on TV. When the time comes They gently walk us From the room Close the curtai...
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