Wasting

Wasting

Sunken eyes,
hollow cheeks.
Wrists thin,
hands like broken birds.
You can count her bones
through her paper-thin skin,
can watch the pump
of blood through her veins.
She struggles to speak,
lips dry as sandpaper,
voice rasping.
It’s hard to hear her
above the beep
of the machines keeping her alive.
The lines on the screen,
like high-peaked mountains
are scrolling.
She’s struggling to stay awake now,
her legs folded.
Her entire body shaking,
wracked with infection.
She coughs blood,
they call the nurse.
The machines go silent.