Remaining Days

The remaining days have no distinction. My children have abandoned me to the care of Shady Acres Nursing Home. My friends, all dead now; and I sit amidst a crowd of breathing zombies staring blindly out the window or into the fuzzy TV screen. The nurses, smiling sadistic bitches who prod my skin and orifices with needles, enemas and other assorted tools of torture. I lie awake at night, listening to the droning snores of my roommate. The room smells like piss mixed with Pine Sol and tears. I hope soon to shake the welcome hand of death. For these remaining days have no distinction.