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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2128079
As I lay, so I shall rest. Ten feet under the ground.
I’m not old,
But my body is withered.
Small and broken,
I rest in this bed.
Days pass as I lay;
Faces come and go.
They look but they do not see-
I am slowly deteriorating.

Monitors sound,
Beep, beep, beep-
The sound repeats.
Weeks have past,
I’m still here.
My mind does wander;
Sanity is no longer mine.

Months go by,
The visitors have stopped
But you remain.
Hold my hand;
Soft lips press against my forehead.
Unspoken words-
I love you.

As my eyes flutter,
I take my last breath.
Hands entwined,
Loosened grip.
Body goes limp.
Your face, your tears-
My last memory.

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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2128079