Between plastic jars of cotton swabs
lies the shears, mocking.
It’s promise of peace and ending
is spitefully out of reach.
He lays, cocooned in too thin sheets
and watches.
The glint of metal arches over the room
disappearing with the sunlight.
Figures pass but their hands he cannot feel.
He is oblivious to the foreign fluids in his veins,
And the crusade of overworked nurses
whose eyes give away the slightest hint of defeat.
Inside he gasps and painstakingly
forms his lips to tell of his comfort with death,
His acceptance and dehumanizing pain
But all they hear is labored breathing.
Mistaken nurses pat his numbed arm,
Assuring him of his successful sigh.
But the truth of his intent escapes the bleached room.
And the dawn mocks him again.
About the Creator
K M
-☙ Visual and Written Artist ❧-
✵Visual Art @kmarinoillustration on Instagram✵
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