On Hannah’s hospital bed,
one that I’m extorted to pay,
hope disregards indifference.
Fractured ringtones match
the vibe of fifty-two cards,
biting the hand that feeds lies.
The physician told Hannah
she had three weeks to live,
urging her to live her goddamn life.
Bruises, like wine, heal better with time.
Hannah’s memory drifted to another time
and space, to another place
where laughter and kindness persist.
We met beneath the cork tree
of scattered promises,
most of which we’d put on hold.
Hannah’s insecurities crumbled
beneath her intuition.
Prayers through trust crashed a thought
left hanging in a solitary semblance of solace.
The pressure builds from both pain
and the presence of loneliness.
Loneliness shattered the constant panic.
Death arrived to elicit Hannah’s final breath
departs her lips, as she dearly departed,
like a vapor in the west coast breeze.
The coffin cost more than the back rent,
so I sprinkled Hannah’s ashes along the river.
For what am I if not exploited?
Twitter – @AC0040
(© 2023 AC)
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