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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #2209960
contemplation on the vegetative state.


In aseptic semi-death;
free to breathe,
spirit trapped by the breath of life,
cold breath brought by machine,
air flowing past unfeeling lips,
untouched by any warming kiss,
but not free to die,
free to live in unthinking night,
blood pumped through a dying mind,
marred by fatal scars,
just a figure in a bed,
compared to death's cold\warm sleep,
that life is truly dead.
but not free to die
...free to die
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2209960