Don't make me.

I won't do it.

I won't.


Alright, fine!

You want it so badly?

To drag it out pull me out

bitten cheeks swell with words under pressure and

My throat hurts.

You want it so badly?

Then fine, I'll do it

I'll say…


Watch his wings from the crushed

crammed corner of a blind white

room. Those wings

aren't so white as the walls.

Watch his wings caught under

loose flesh, sloughing shoulders, lost

weight. Almost light

enough to fly but he will refuse.

Watch his wings but pretend not

to see eroded feet peeking out from

bedding. Disgusting, don't

look at them die.

Watch his wrinkled sheet wings but shy

from the sullen eyes asking a little girl to step

closer. To say

goodbye when she can't even say


Because who wants to remember?

There's dog shit on the floor and

they can't get out of their chairs they're

Too Fat.

So aunt cleans it up, cleans them up, while grandma's

legs wriggle like bloated maggots and she screams,

she wails

"I don't even know her birthday."

So daddy reminds her, October ninth

but her legs still kick and grandpa stares past

statuesque and just as responsive

while brother tugs my arm and leads me outside

to the park on the corner.

We take the dog and it shits on the lawn.

But don't forget

Back when they walked and the chairs weren't permanent

I had a birthday.

And grandpa,


He walked with his cane to the garage and came back

with a red tool kit

paint slick like the grease under his nails

and opened it to show me

the hammer inside with rust on the handle

the bent nails beside it

the screwdrivers.

I crouched beside the upholstered chair

chin pillowed on his doughy thigh

as he explained the difference between

flat heads and phillips

and never noticed

I didn't care.

Ready to go yet?

So different now

this rotting man.

Can't speak

(like he ever did)

lost weight

(too much, his skin drapes his body better than the sheets)

feet pitted

(I hate feet. I hate them! Please god someone cover them up!)

too weak

(Can he move? This is worse than his chair.)


(I don't want to be here.)

Too bad, you're already there

Grandfather's dying

but you stand in a corner

cramped between two heart machines and

the one on the left is broken.

Don't move closer

if you do then he'll see you.

just stand here


while your knees crumble

and your calves ache

and your lungs

can't keep their air

because when you walked in

the white walls slapped you like a belly flop

and no one heard the gasp.

Now say goodbye

Catch your breath

clench your hands

you've been cornered too long.

Step forward

and smile

you can do it, I know you can.

See? He's smiling back

and he's still the same.

(I hate him)

You love him.

Take his hand

and know in the morning

when they call you

and tell you

he died in his sleep

the night you left

that at least you got

to say goodbye.

(Then why doesn't it feel like it?)