Your grip on my throat

It's been a year or two since you passed
Seeing you in that bed hooked up to everything
Incubator, dialysis, warmers, and drugs
No longer responsive, finally quiet
Being there, hearing the tone down the hall
Relieved I'll never hear your voice again
No more being cornered at family affairs
Saying I need to do this or that
How you changed since my childhood
And that we need to reconnect
Me explaining how you treated me
My own personal hell
I thought it was over, you were over
The nightmare over
But your ghost remained in my head
Haunting my dreams every now and then
Trying to say something just like before
It was always your way or none
Even in death you demand the last word