I cling to the lines on the monitor
They rise and fall like stormy waves in the open sea.
I try to float upon the surface
But the weight of waiting sits heavily.
I stare at the tubes invading your body
I listen to the hum of the machine that forces air into your lungs
The rise of your chest feels artificial
Like the lifeless cafeteria food I forced down this morning.
The humming stops with my signature
Like my world when the waves stop rising.
The flat surface drags me under, drowning me, choking me.
I’m not sure if it’s night or day
The month has been a blur of waiting for good news that never comes.
All I know is that the clock strikes nine o-two, your chest stills
And on August the sixteenth, you’re gone.