He lives in the white walls of a hospital
In a bed made of concrete and white feathers
Tubs lace his wrist and sleep in his nose
His eyes are dull; a gray copper
And their job is to watch the life drain from his body
And watch his heart slowly fail
For one day it will not tick with the clock on the wall

I am dying too even though I am healthy
I will die before him
The man that lives in the hospitals’ dying arms
For I am going to give him my heart
The doctors will cut it from my chest
And hold its properties of life in their rubber gloves
As I die cold on a slab of slick mental

For I have nothing to live for
And he has everything to take