Dead.

*beep* *beep* *beep*
Heart monitors.
They don't stop.
The lack of silence, this incessant beeping is irritating.
In the bed, suffering never ceases.
But is this physical?
It could be more emotional, but this is just a hunch.
It is a heart monitor, and it never stops beeping,
but only because it hasn't stopped beating. . .
yet.

It's always another pretty face to get yourself hooked on, I suppose.
Hooked up to it like the IVs that pump chemicals through the veins,
and they become the only way to live.
Maybe when you're outside, you are finally off,
but there you go again! Shooting up something painful.
This is where your heart stops.
Don't keep it in, but so hard to let go.

Now you are here, and now I'm here. I assume this isn't your first time here.
No, this ICU is special.
Only those who have been in this condition too many times come here.
*beep* *beep* *beep*
Only a matter of time.
You might have a few more months, or if you are lucky, you will come back later.
Much later, hopefully.


But when it feels alright, they walk in.
Hand in hand, the damned slowly approach us.
Death himself, and his lifeless stare.
So hollow, cold, eerie.
And there is the person who gave the heart an attack,
an ache so deep and passionate and painful.
"I've come to claim what is mine."

And Death unhooks all the machines and wires,
and with his scythe, cuts your chest open.
The other then reaches in.
Agonizing, traumatizing, and forgettable.
*Silence* *silence* *silence* *silence*
The heart is ripped out.
Unplugged, and they walk away.
With Death lies your body, and she holds the heart,
still warm and pumping.
And the spirit watches helplessly, hopelessly
and everything is gone forever. . .