i am dying.
and it's not in the metaphorical way that leads to
or depression or withdrawl from the world,
i really am dying.
my hearbeat is faint, feeble, and my lungs
refuse to give me oxygen and my muscles
are slowly ceasing to respond to my frantic requests and my eyes
won't let me see and my ears
don't let me hear and my body
is done fighting, it is letting itself slowly
and there is nothing i can do.
dead at only sixteen, seventeen,
if i'm lucky
and a whole life to live taken away before i could
take the time to live it and i wonder
how my little sisters are going to react when
my parents finally decide to tell them that their
older sister is dying and that she is past saving and that
she can't live much longer.
i wonder if anyone at school will miss my presence, will they
notice that i'm gone when my legs will no longer carry me
to school and my lungs will no longer work on their own
and i am stuck in a hospital bed instead of the one at home
with the window and the sunshine and the partially transparent purple curtains,
or will they all be shocked when my obituary is in the paper and my funeral
is planned for a bright spring day and my coffin is slowly lowered into the ground?
there are so many things i will not get to do, so many
places i will not get to see, so many
people i will not get to meet, so many
books i will not get to read, so many
words i will not get to say.
i am dying and it hurts and i'm scared and i just want to