A sight that pricks the heart like a pin, deflating it
Happiness gushing out to leave a melancholy horror
Which lingers longer like the blood in the tube
They have wrenched into your tiny vein,
Crude and cruel-looking, too big
As is the white band hung loosely round your wrist.
How did you get here again?
I try to give you a hug, but am too conscious of your arm,
Not wanting to knock the needle
Scratching at the surface of what went wrong,
Gazing at the scuffed lino when I can't quite manage
To look into your sad beautiful eyes.
You shouldn't be here, in this sterile room
And the too-big bed, clothes neatly folded inside carrier bags
Packed with compensatory guilt and recognition
Of the fact that it is too late.
You are probably more intelligent than the nurses,
But are reduced to this tiny vulnerable being,
Picking at the stitches on Mr. Ted, your ever-faithful ally.
I feel like crying, though I'm the one who has it easy -
The thought of you here alone with that awful thing
Stuck into your arm, framed by pointy elbows.
I want to explain how much I love you, but all
Words fail - I think the words ran out a long time ago;
You have heard it before, though I still want to talk for hours.
A sad scene: two girls bought together by the very thing
That is tearing them apart.