At your bedside I am kneeling,
Wondering if you hear me pleading:
"Squeeze my finger if you can hear me;
Show some sign that you are healing!"
The flowers and balloons are slowly wilting,
Get-Well cards are softly fading
Lights are flickering; hope is waning.
But now the choice is up to me:
To kill my brother, or let him be.
His eyes are open and yet unseeing;
The brain scans show no signs of thinking.
The doctors say the chances are slimming
With each day his mind remising.
And why should he continue living
If his mind is not correctly working?
His treatment costs a lot of money
That would otherwise help benefit my family.
So why is this so hard for me?
Do I really want to remove the tubing
That feeds my fragile older sibling…?


Author's Note: I wrote this today, and I have no clue why! I don't have any relatives about to die, so idk. But I wrote it, and it's probably the best poem I have consciously written in... well, let's just say it's been a while!

I started writing another poem from the POV of the dying brother, but I'm not sure if I'll continue writing it. Let me know what you think!