The diagnosis was terminal,
the patient’s suffering
evident, from being
battered and neglected
through her many years
Continuously harmed
by the very ones
for whom she had
endlessly provided
But her offerings
were never sufficient
Greedily they always
demanded more
They took everything
she could give,
using it momentarily
then discarding it
carelessly on her floor
The rot piled quicker
than she could handle,
seeping into her soil,
into her water
She lay on her death bed,
the thermometer in her mouth
noting the alarming rate
with which her temperature
continued to rise
As her sickness escalated,
calls to her family were made
Many denied she was sick at all,
Many wished they could help
but were too busy
with their own lives
and couldn’t be bothered
to help ease her pain,
Some simply ignored
the phone’s insistent ringing
Unwilling to admit
they cannot live
without her,
that their children
will suffer the consequences
of their indifference
But the patient
won’t fully die,
at some point
the invasive parasites
that push her
relentlessly
towards her demise
will cease to be,
and then finally,
with their weight
off her sagging shoulders,
she can begin to heal
24 Jul 2019
inspired by a conversation with my friend, Zach
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