Dying Alone
The bedside tray sits empty
No get well cards
No Flowers from that special someone
The only sound is the life support monitor
Counting down the beats to my last breath
Yet death lingers
And the dark finger of fate
Dangles my life like a puppet on a string
My visitor comes every two hours
To check my pulse
Check for a faint flicker in my eyes
But really just waiting to throw a sheet
Over my cold dead corpse.
No one else comes.
I hear a newborn baby crying in the distance.
Fitting
One on the way in, one on the way out
The angel of death and the angel of mercy
Exchange pleasantries outside my door.
And so i wait
Alone
To die alone.
Copyright © Carl Fraser | Year Posted 2016
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