Diagnosed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still,

 

 

He chokes

down the filth around him.

His focus fading black.

 

Digest.

 

Swallows

the stale, humid air.

 

Inhale.

 

The desperate shadows about him.

Hope found dead,

Drowned in the shallows.

This cage he sits in,

More of a maze,

He trips up before his trip’s up.

His pain is endless pain.

 

Unrest.

 

It is subtle,

Not a sharp stab,

 

But a dull…                 …ache…

 

There is no escaping that weariness, that wrath.

 

 

There is no evading that awareness, that breath.

 

 

That last gasp,

The mere mention, 

Prevents him,

From the  ta sk   to   g rasp     .

 

 

 

 

        Suf f oca ti on     im pal es     hi m,

 

 

 

 

 

     H i  s           c    h es  t

 

 

 

 

 

 

         A    t                  r          e  s     t

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

     A        t             L       a            s            t

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still

 

Death.