He coughs
Spits blood into a sick pink hospital cup
And tells me what it's like to die.
I swallow each jagged word
Careful not to choke on his honesty
He says tomorrow
Maybe next thursday
Speaks of it as if he is planning a fishing trip
I know the brave face is as much for his own benefit
As mine
He will shed his tears tonight
Alone in his bed with none but beeping monitors
and faceless nurses to lend comfort
He says they wait for him in the shadows
Beyond reach
Playing tug o war over his soul
And he doesn't know which side will win
But he is no longer afraid
He
My only weakness
Weakened to this
Tumors wrapped nooses around his throat
Choking away words he would have woven
Into poetry with his swolen fingers
We dim lights and pray to Gods who have long since forsaken us
Whisper words that will not retain their meaning
These moments have been stolen straight from the hands of God
And I know they cannot last
But I waste them anyway
Slowly counting down seconds
And trying to remember what his hair smelled like
And what he said to me in our last conversation before we were reduced to this
Ashes
Dying embers
With no spark left to fuel a fire
Dead and empty
But still clinging to life
They no longer talk of recovery
We whisper worst case scenarios in stale hospital corridors
We are children
Playing games of chance we know we cannot win
He tells me
What dying is like
Tells me it is not as painful as he thought it would be
But it hurts
So much more than he imagined