NaWriPoMo Hull Royal

I don’t know how long I stand
at the hospital’s tenth floor window,
watching headlamps, like fairy lights,
blur in rain stained windows
Hearing the intermittent sounds

of sirens and soft-soled, respectful, feet.
Your jagged breath.
Stifling thoughts of gently
forcing a pillow, over your mouth.
Reflected in the pane I see

a littered table ..Swabs to unparch
your mouth, unstick your eyes.
A booklet titled ‘Pathway’
detailing the course from living to dead.

I see your bony angles
throw unnatural shadows.
the wet-sand colour of your skin
the heave of your chest,
Your jagged breath.

©theeditoffice 2013

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