It's only a matter of time, he said.
Everything's shutting down, I'm sorry.
She'll have a side room and dynamic bed.
It could be tonight or maybe tomorrow.

We'll balance the drugs when you complain,
Administered semi-predictably.
Analgesia v searing pain:
Either might win. What will be will be.

Punctured and propped, frustrated and weak,
Eyes either dazzled or under a crust,
She'll hear every whisper unable to speak,
Her heart leaking, kidneys becoming dust.

It's coming, ready or not, sonny.
The clock ticks only outside her room.
Probably you shold pause being funny
To create some honesty from her doom.