Verge Of Death.

She stared at nothing
Yet something tamed her eye,
Though misplaced in plain clothing,
The atmosphere hung dry.

There were wires in and out
Of every arm she sunk low.
She tried to smooth the creases
Upon the blanket, but her fingers worked too
Slow.

Her neck was stiff and still,
The pillow sat flat beneath her weight.
Like feathers, her head barely sunk
And rather sat uncomfortably in place.

She drank, she ate, she joyed
Over happiness she did not own.
She smiled despite sliced lips;
Abiding with time, she ached for home.

She found nothing but all amusing,
She choked back tears she could not thrust.
She exhaled into thick dense air
That collected time and dust.

She did little but all at once,
Collecting letters with bleeding ink.
The words shaped in beautiful meanings,
That held back the sadness behind each blink.

She smelled her daisies, looked through photos
The album summed throughout her life.
She chuckled at verses, and watched reruns
In her mind as the darkness drank away the light.

The wires, they hurt her veins, until
She can barely think at all
Of all the faces she missed and loved
Before their final fall.
The air, it crowds around her, but
The lungs no longer take.
The heart, it slows and aches
But her soul does not break.